


At Frost Glance

by cykelops



Series: AFG [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow-ish burn, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cykelops/pseuds/cykelops
Summary: Daken is back and he has some information Bobby might be interested in. Teaming up with Daken isn't the smartest idea and no one's ever come out unscathed from that arrangement.





	1. Snow thy Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: bobby deserves better and if daken wants a piece of that then he better _be_ better.

Zach’s departure from the X-Mansion had been all the prompting Bobby needed to take a more hands-on approach with his students. Emotionally detached as Xavier had been, he only had five kids to care for. Bobby was spread thin over thirty-two, but any X-Man had faced worse odds than those and come out on top. Bobby was too complacent with the idea that he was not meant to be a role model. He wasn’t the youngest of the X-Men, not anymore, and he was growing now faster than ever. It was time to face that change head-on, accept it.

Still. He had no idea how to be that guy. Those guys always toed the line between caring teacher and condescending know-it-all. Bobby had his strengths, however, he might not be completely in tune with the sort of maturity that resulted in wisdom, but he knew how to pander. 

Pander he did. Tuesday morning had him taking his class out into Central Park. He picked out a little spot, filled it with blankets and equipped it with a snow cone machine. His lecture was short and sweet. He left them working on an assignment that wouldn’t be due until Friday and helped some empty hands to some shaved ice-y goodness. 

Trevor paused before putting the cone into his mouth. “This didn’t come from _you_ did it?” 

Bobby smiled. “Oh, you bet. One hundred percent organic ice. Can’t get it anywhere else.” 

He watched as Trevor weighed the possibility he wasn’t kidding against the reward of the sugared treat. The snow cone won out. Bobby threw his head back and laughed. Ice covered his forearm and he showed Trevor a reflection of himself on his palm, his mouth ringed in dark blue syrup. 

As the boy rubbed furiously at the stain he came to a sudden stop. All his eyes turned towards one direction far behind Bobby’s shoulder. He was tense, alert, and it became instantly apparent he’d seen something dangerous. Bobby turned his head. 

No. Someone. 

Daken’s silhouette was unmistakable even obscured by the trees. His suit was sharp as his claws. He stood with one hand against the trunk of a tree and the other jammed into his pocket. Bobby stood up, he held his arms open as if to shield the students.

“Everybody back in the house.” He said, drawing their eyes towards him. When they didn’t move, he repeated. “Now! Back in the house!”

Bobby unbuttoned his dress shirt to expose the x-suit below. A warning that he was fully prepared for this to escalate. Daken raised his head, stepped away from the tree and grinned. He leaned back to watch the children rush back into the mansion.

“It’s not every day you see ants running from the picnic.” 

“What do you want, Daken?” 

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll share. I got you to lose a few buttons just standing here.”

Bobby had enough of Daken’s brand of mockery. If he got used to his oily compliments he would never trust someone with sincere intentions. He crossed his arms over his chest and went ice all over.

“You here to steal more kids, or is it Logan you’re looking for?” 

That got at the very least a bristle. Daken’s lips tightened into a line before dissolving into a sly smirk. 

“I am here for you actually. You and I have some…” Daken slipped his hand out of his pocket. “Unfinished business.”

Thousands upon thousands of Danger Room sessions told Bobby he was readying to attack. The wide stance, his hands twitching as if eager to release his claws. This close to the school and the hundreds of civilians touring Central Park meant collateral damage was everything. If Daken wanted a fight, he would get one. Quick and dirty. 

“So--” 

Bobby waited until Daken opened his mouth before he put his hands forward and sent Daken barrelling back in a flurry of snow. Bobby stripped out of the rest of his clothes, his ice armor crystallized over his skin. He let out a breath and positioned his body to counter the brunt of Daken’s weight as the man recovered from taking snow to the chest and lunged at him, claws and teeth bared. 

“Some hero you are. That’s the second time you attack me without reason.” 

“You indoctrinated one of my students into your budding YOLO army, you promised to feed me all ten of my fingers, and you trespassed on school property. I am not gonna lose any sleep pondering on the morality of my actions. Tell me how any of that gives you the benefit of doubt?” 

“You know me, baby. Our professional differences won’t stop me from offering you a good time.”

Bobby broke the shield he’d made with his arms and ducked before Daken could take his head off. A thin sheet of ice covered the ground, Bobby kicked Daken on the knee and tried not to feel too merry when Daken fell chin first onto the slippery surface. Daken’s shoes were not fit for ice-skating, and getting his feet back under him proved a struggle. It was incredibly satisfying to watch and know Daken absolutely despised being ridiculed. 

“The claws aren’t much use when you can’t even touch me, huh?” 

“You’re slow,” Daken spat out. “You only get the element of surprise once, but you are adamant in recycling it. Let’s take you to school, Iceman.” 

Daken cracked the ice at his feet and disposed of his dress shoes. He dodged the spikes Bobby raised from the ground, dropped and slid on his ice paths rather than uselessly trying to stand his ground. Out with the pleasure, in with the business.  He tossed out his jacket while running circles around Bobby, dizzyingly fast and agile. He looked less like a seedy guy harassing girls at the bar and more like-- well, a _Wolverine_. Something in Bobby’s chest fluttered traitorously. 

Could Wolverines hear that? The blood rushing through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest? A moment’s distraction brought Daken far too close for comfort, he turned just quickly enough for Daken’s claws to graze his cheek. His best bet with Daken was keeping his distance, but there was something to be said for the excitement of close quarters combat. He refused to lose the ground he’d gained. 

“On to rooftop, every time I spoke you dug the ice deeper. Is it fighting you like, Drake, or hurting people?”

“Don’t try that line on me. You were fine in seconds. Your healing factor--”

“Does not make me immune to pain, but you already knew that.”

He raised his elbow and struck him, adding a second layer of ice armor to his knuckles before he punched him in the face. Daken felt around his jaw where Bobby had socked him, cracked it back into place.

Daken turned his head and Bobby saw a familiar, wild glint in his eyes. He had been around Logan far too long not to recognize the beginnings of berserker rage. Bobby couldn’t have that, not here, not now. He had already allowed this to go on for far too long.

“What’s the matter?” Daken asked. “Getting tired or appreciating the view?” 

“I don’t suppose you do timeouts, huh, Daken?”

“Not a chance.”

The next time Daken came at him he switched offense for defense. He lured the man back into the trees and, when the moment was right, pinned him to the trunk of a Sycamore. Daken struggled, kicking his legs. 

“Fight like a man!”

“Take a look around, Daken. This is what the high road looks like.”

Every hard tug at the restraints around his wrists and chest proved futile, Bobby’s hold far too secure. He tired himself out before he could dislodge any one of them, and by then the anger building in him had tempered.  He looked down at himself and his face cracked into a smug, toothy grin.

“No pain this time?” 

“Not this time.” Bobby warned. 

“You’re a soft touch.”

“Thought you were implying I get my ice cubes off hurting people earlier.”

“Maybe not, but we could make something _that_ interesting out of you yet.”

To his shock, they shared a laugh. Bobby shook his head with an air of amusement and sighed. 

“What are you really here for, Daken?”

Daken tilted his head, chewed on his lip thoughtfully, and smiled. His expression warped, as did brief absence of animosity between them. Daken’s voice was then a mix of honey and slime. 

“I am here to take you to dinner, snowflake.”

Bobby tensed and scuffed his foot on the dirt. Misplaced resentment bubbled up in his chest. He had no reason to believe their impromptu sparring session had attained him any respect in Daken’s book. For a moment, a mere second, he’d believed he had gotten past the scummy outer shell of the man and found someone he wasn’t utterly disgusted by. Someone remotely human, and not simply a construct of sleazy one-liners in a designer jacket. 

Live and learn. As soon as the feeling was there, it was gone. Daken was a lousy speck in his radar, a nuisance to be disposed of and given no thought to. He was easy to bury in the back of his mind. Bobby turned away and waved his hand over his head. 

“Up yours, Daken.” 

“Wait!” 

“The ice will melt in a few hours. No biggie.”

“Not that, you idiot. It’s about Zach.”

Bobby stopped. He didn’t mean to, it was probably another trick, but his last exchange with Zach was still eating at him. 

“What about Zach?”

“Your little friend is in big trouble. Bigger than even I can bail him out of.”

“And why do you care?” 

“If you care, you want to hear what I have to say.”

Zach was the trigger that had led him to seek out a more profound relationship with the students he was responsible for. Bobby hadn’t heard of him in weeks, not even on social media. 

Bobby turned and retraced his steps. He melted down the ice holding Daken in place and let him drop. 

“Alright. Talk, and don’t make me regret this.” 

  
  



	2. Tone Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the very worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuuuuh so this got weirdly dark. it didnt seem so bad when i originally had it in my head. I promise this is the only chapter like this.
> 
> i upped the rating because there is some child abuse (not on daken or bobby's part) but it's not very graphic

Zach was in big trouble indeed. The members-only club Daken had taken him to was a _front-of-a-front_ for the Hellfire Club. It was the furthest you could get from the real thing without being completely out of the loop. Daken considered that safe. He had left Zach alone for a moment and that had been enough for the boy to disappear. Daken had tracked his scent to the parking lot, right up to the reserved spot for one of the Club’s high ranking members.

Daken had not given him a name and only alluded to the things that could be happening to Zach at that very moment. The Club provided its members with a precious commodity: anonymity. With only an alias to go on Daken couldn’t be expected to scour the city until he just so happened to bump into Zach’s scent. Greasing a few palms had gotten him a place, a date, and a time when the person Zach had left with would resurface. The second best thing.

Kitty and Rachel had come out of the house shortly after that and scared Daken off before he could share those key details. Bobby explained the mess, Daken’s quick retreat, and the information the man had shared about Zach. The main issue was Daken’s unknown motivations. He had cared enough to look for Zach after he’d been taken. He was either legitimately concerned for the child in his care or, the most likely of the two, losing Zach had put a hiccup in his plans for the boy. They were all in agreement that regardless of Daken’s intentions it was best for Zach that Bobby be involved. It would be another chance to convince him to come back to the X-Mansion.

Whatever the case, without a way to contact Daken he was tasked with sitting on his hands and wait for his return.

He wasn’t particularly happy about that. He couldn’t blame Kitty and Rachel for interrupting. If he had been in real danger, he would have wanted them to be there. It was all Daken’s fault. His mysterious, lone wolf BS. It was clearly the first time he had ever been responsible for another living thing and he was really fucking awful at it. Bobby pushed his covers aside and patted down the pillow before laying down. He shut off the light and closed his eyes, murmuring into his pillow.

“Missed connections. You, the walking, talking embodiment of a perforated ulcer. Me, a really cool guy trying not to have a dead kid in his conscience. Bad for morale, I hear.”

He slept with a distinct uneasiness in his stomach.

=

Bobby woke to the sensation he was being watched.

“Hi.”

He was close enough for Bobby to feel his breath on his face. His eyes were two gleaming beads in the dark, bright with delight. The clock behind him read 2:45 am, four hours since Bobby had fallen asleep. Bobby rolled onto his back and stretched out the kinks in his spine. He sat up and scratched idly at his side as his other hand rubbed away the sand in his eyes.

“Sup, Edward. Didn't know you were making the rounds tonight.”

A blank stare, the reference clearly lost on him. Wow. How old was this guy?

Daken stretched out on his side, elbow resting on the pillow and chin propped up on his palm. His suit was black this time, and Bobby could make out an embroidered pattern raised on his lapels. He noted his legs were positioned as such that the soles of his shoes were not touching the sheets. Classy. When Bobby’s eyes found their way to his face again, the delight had given way to curiosity and he stared at Bobby like a cat might at an unusually interesting toy.

“Most men would have gotten up screaming.” He pointed out.

“You’re not _that_ ugly.”

Daken’s smile grew. He tapped his fingers on the mattress. Every blink brought Bobby one step closer to wakefulness but he wasn’t there quite yet. In truth, Bobby had never woken up to an alarm a single day in his life. Usually someone came to shake him awake, it wasn't so out of place to find someone in his bed.

“You have been officially _out_ for a very short time.”

Of fucking course. _This_ . Bobby had been waiting for _this_. Bobby needed to have a few choice words with people who kept doing his outing for him.

“How do you know about that?”

“B is only the third letter in that acronym. It travelled down the grapevine. L told G, and G told B--”

“Uh-huh. Johnny told you.”

“Johnny told me.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. He had every reason to believe Daken was the only person Johnny had told. He had access to the grapevine too, and there were… whispers, to say the least. If Daken was here it was clear they would be looking for Zach that very night. Villains usually started doing their thing pretty late. Three in the morning seemed a fine time. Bobby pulled back the covers and got up to search through his wardrobe.

“Why are you asking right now?”

Daken was quiet after that, and Bobby shrugged it off. He was only trying to get under his skin. Bobby had already thought of every question, quip, and insult about his sexuality anyone could possibly hurl his way, and he was prepared not to be disturbed by it. He had very few suits to choose from and he would _not_ wear his nice temple suit to a nondescript criminal’s club. He grabbed the one next to it and closed the door.

Bobby jumped, he could see Daken standing behind him on the full-length mirror. Asshole was real quiet when he put his mind to it. Bobby didn’t even want to think about how he got in his room. Wait a second. _How did he get in his room?_

Daken had other things in mind. “You have been in multiple relationships with women, but have now realized you’re attracted exclusively to men. Yet I do not think you know _how_ to be attracted to men. I think you buried that a long time ago in an attempt to forget it altogether.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bobby didn't care what corner of his asshole Daken MD had pulled out that nasty bit of psychoanalysis from, but he wouldn't do him the courtesy to be even so much as miffed by it.

“Thanks, doc. I think I know boys are cute now. You've cured me.” He handed Daken his suit jacket. He laid out the shirt and pants on the bed and pondered on whether his mother would consider the wrinkles on the fabric minimal enough to wear out.

“I don't think your body has received the signals your brain is sending. I could not say you're still acting like a straight man because a straight man would _react_.” Daken continued.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You repressed the knowledge of this for quite a long time. Your mind has caught up to it by now, but the rest of you still operates on automatic. It started as something innocent– The determination not to stare too long at Angel in the shower, a stubborn persistence not to flinch every time Cyclops touched your lower back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“When we are pressed together your heart doesn’t beat any faster, your hands do not sweat. Finding another man in your bed? It garners less than a blink. Critical _under_ reaction. Overcompensation.”

In the time that had elapsed during Daken’s hot take, Bobby had exchanged his pajamas for the clothes on the bed. He had showered four hours prior which saved him from having to fully undress. He didn’t think Daken would have noticed if he stripped down to nothing right now, not while he was so enthralled by the sound of his own voice and the conclusion he had come to all on his own.

“Your mind is strong enough to resist my pheromones long enough to freeze me, thinking you could cork something like this isn’t so much of a stretch.”

“Alright, asshole. Let’s take that one step at a time.” Bobby began to tuck the dress shirt into his pants. “Your hypothesis is inherently flawed. It depends entirely on one factor: finding you attractive. You have nothing else to go on except that I don’t _show_ how much you assume I want to jump your bones.

I’ve been tortured and interrogated before, it teaches you a few things. You don’t know what my little heart desires because I don’t want you to. Cooling down my body and slowing down my pulse? Easy as a thought.

Communal showers have been a part of my life since I was fifteen. I know this is a little hard for you to understand, but when you know people for a really long time, say Angel and Cyclops, sexual tension doesn’t tend to permeate your every exchange. The novelty wears off after a while. Between me and you? It wore out fifteen seconds after you tapped me on the shoulder.”

He walked towards Daken and tapped two fingers under both of his wrists. Instinctually, Daken adjusted his hold on the lapels and held the jacket high enough that Bobby needed only to turn around and slip his arms into it. He faced the older man with an arrogant tilt of his head, searching for a sign that he had pressed all the right buttons necessary to put an end to his spiel.

“We clear?” Bobby pressed.

The lines of Daken’s face went tight. Bobby could reach out and cut himself on those jagged edges. Brow furrowed, the other man was caught between a million questions and the urge to start another fight. Bobby was no idiot, he knew when he was staring down someone who had carefully numbered their expectations for him and was having a hard time processing a challenge to those assumptions.

He was damaged goods, but not the wilting flower Daken was making him out to be. The man saw only the cracked tip of the iceberg above water and lacked the perspective to look beneath the surface where he was holding strong. Bobby actually found he enjoyed revealing these things to him, if only to watch his face twitch as he tried to make sense of it.

A ringtone out of Daken’s pocket cut between them like a hot knife. They both looked away at the same time. Bobby reached up and undid the button pressed too tight against his throat while Daken dug his phone out. So he did have one after all.

“Clear as ice, snowflake.” Daken said and pocketed the device. Bobby’s brain struggled to comprehend it was an answer to the question he had asked. So long ago, it seemed. “Come on. It’s almost time. We wouldn’t want to miss our Zinderella tonight.”

=

Daken’s car was a hideously expensive convertible, fast as an incoming train and equally as dangerous with him at the wheel. Bobby loved every second on the road. The wind arranged his hair into the artful tussle that usually took an hour at home with three kinds of brushes, and he finished the job with his fingers and the sideview mirror. Kitty got an update to her personal number rather than the comm before Bobby hopped out of the car. She would see it in the morning. Only if things got urgent would Bobby send off a mayday.

Daken shared a handshake with the bouncer at the door. They spoke in hushed tones and sideways glances towards him in what he recognized to be Japanese. A finger-thick wad of cash disappeared into the bouncer’s sleeve quickly, but not so quick Bobby could not catch the number of zeros on the bills. Woof. He opened the door for them after that and the two walked in shoulder to shoulder.

Immediately he could feel the thrum of the bass beating in his chest.  Bodies moved on the dance floor in waves, featureless except when strobe lights flickered for a few blinding seconds. It had all the makings of a New York night club on Spring Break with the added benefit of lavish upholstery. The clothes of those around him were more fit for an obscure gala in Milan than NY’s underbelly. Daken's hand took his elbow and guided him towards a booth. He picked up an alarmingly orange drink glittering with what he was sure was _real gold flakes_. He could not hear his laughter over the music.

He’d had his fun now, brief as it was. A chance to appreciate the ridiculousness of criminals who took themselves too seriously, but not seriously enough not to booty bump. Bobby was determined to focus on Zach.

“What’s the plan?” He asked once Daken had found them a corner to brood in. The royal blue cushions felt wonderful against his back, and the drink left a tangy aftertaste in his mouth. Who ever said crime doesn’t pay?

“Our target isn’t here yet, but his entourage is. When I lost Zach’s scent I was forced to ask questions, and nothing gets around faster than rumors _someone_ wants to know too much. The moment we walked in all their eyes were on us. I count six of them so far, the most worrying of all is the woman making her way towards us right now. She spoke to the waiter, the next pretty drink will have you foaming at the mouth and dead in seconds.”

Bobby swallowed thickly, a knot caught in his throat. He could see the woman out of the corner of his eye. Had he been so lost walking in that he had missed all that?

“Don’t feel too bad. These are professionals. The Hellfire Club runs circles around your X-Men.” Daken said as if he’d read his mind. Bobby was so focused on the woman coming ever closer that he barely registered what he said next. “In a moment I am going to put my hand on your thigh and I am going to kiss you.”

“Huh?”

Daken’s hand was hot as a brand. He moved on a frame-by-frame basis, slow by design. He gave Bobby all the time in the world to do something, say anything, but Bobby’s mind had melted around a single word: _Warm._

Daken’s index finger touched the side of his chin and turned his head slightly so his lips would catch him on the cheek rather than on the mouth. Just like his hand, they were white hot, searing his skin with a touch. The moment stretched endlessly and Bobby remained still as an ice sculpture, eyes wide. He couldn’t tell the beat of the music and the pounding in his chest apart. Daken scorched a path to his ear and breathed out a laugh.

“ _There’s_ your heart, Iceman.”

Bobby exhaled a plume of white smoke, his body cooled down, his pulse slowed.

“Give me a reason I shouldn’t uppercut a spike into the soft part of your throat, Daken.”

Daken kept his mouth trained against his ear. It served to obscure his side of the conversation from any prying eyes, but Bobby was quickly losing his patience with the position. “The woman is gone, and her friends are paying us much less attention now. I have a reputation for being attentive towards the meals i choose to bring to this place.”

“So I am here to play your boy-toy now, is that right?”

“You’re a fast learner, snowflake.”

Bobby smiled. He cocked his head to the side, bringing their lips a hummingbird’s wingspan apart. He mirrored Daken’s grip on his thigh and turned his attention to the snap-crackle of ice claws forming on his knuckles and coming dangerously close to his groin.

“Call me a _meal_ again,” He purred. “And I will _legit_ castrate you.”

He had the good sense to shift uncomfortably and lean back in his seat.

“Point taken.”

=

They had been watching the front door for over an hour. Daken promised the man they were looking for was the sort to keep to a schedule, but Bobby was beginning to worry. He thought of what would happen if Zach and his new _sponsor,_ for lack of a better word, were in and out again before they could stop them. If they started a fight here, they would be outnumbered a hundred to one. They were a lot of bodies under that one roof, and every time Daken lifted his head to scent at the air a dissatisfied frown drew across his face.

“He won’t be going back.” Daken said suddenly, apropos to nothing. He continued to clarify. “To your school.”

If they were going to have that conversation it might as well not be in front of Zach. Not for a second time. “That’s not for you to decide.”

“He isn’t buying what you’re selling. You don’t understand what he needs.”

“But you do?”

“I do, in fact.”

“Look, Daken—”

“No, you look. You got one thing wrong already, even after he laid it out at your feet. Zach didn’t come along with me on the promise of a new hairdo and fancy clothes. He didn’t even come with me because I gave him the attention he was sorely lacking in your school, or because his family stopped short of disowning him, but that doesn’t mean they want him. He followed me because I _look_ dangerous and he _feels_ dangerous. Better he be around _me_ when he snaps than around you.”

“I know anger, Daken. I’ve dealt with it for all my life.” Bobby said sharply.

“You think he’s angry?” He laughed humorlessly. “Angry doesn’t seek out someone who’s gonna curb them. Our boy is looking to get hurt. He gravitates towards the scariest thing in the room, and he needs to wake up and realize he doesn’t really want to die.”

 _And I know what that's like_ remained unspoken.

It was harder to talk after that. Their dynamic relied heavily on their ability to keep their tongues sharp and aimed at each other. They did not know what to do with the honestly that had accidentally broken ground between them. Bobby allowed him the last word this once and resumed his careful watch on the door.

Looking back on that moment in the future, Bobby would remember everything happening within the same second. 

“They’re on the move.” Daken blurted. He hoisted his body over the table before Bobby could question what the hell he was talking about. He got up to chase after him, standing on his tiptoes and raising his head above the crowd in an attempt to spot what Daken had seen. He made Zach out in the split second before a man pushed him out the back exit and then disappeared. He hadn’t recognized Zach with a beanie pulled tight over his ears and Daken hadn't offered any heads up. Stupid. Careless.

Daken had pulled ahead. The crowd closed in behind him, converging around Bobby and crushing the air out of his lungs. He called out Daken’s name, stretched out his arm to grab him, but just like Zach he was there one moment and gone the next. He struggled against the mass of bodies like an animal caught in quicksand. The more he fought it, the more it dragged him down.

Stupid. _Careless._

He’d had enough. He was no patron of patience, but he had endured his fair share for one night. Bobby screamed, his body hardened from his hair to his toes. He pushed people aside, no thought wasted on reigning in his strength. Minutes had passed since he’d been devoured by the one-track minds on the dance floor. By then Daken could have taken Zach away, or worse, lost him again. It wasn’t _smart_ to start a fight in Club territory but Bobby wasn’t thinking as he wrenched open the door, slammed it closed, and froze it into its frame from the outside.  

He breathed hard into the night air. He swiveled wildly in place, searching for any sign of Zach or Daken. A scream drew his attention to his left, the grind of bone against concrete unmistakeable. Bobby shot off in that direction faster than he could process the sound, his mind already conjuring images of Zach covered in his own blood.

He rounded the corner and bumped straight into the boy they had been looking for all night.

Zach’s face was a mess tears, snot, and blood. His right eye had nearly swelled shut, and the beginnings of a bruise stained his skin. Panic shot across his features as he collided into Bobby’s chest and raised his arms to protect himself. He did not recognise his teacher even when Bobby grabbed him by the biceps, held him still, and called his name.

Daken was hunched over the man he'd seen accompanying Zach, or rather his corpse. The man was long dead but Daken continued to drive his claws into him. He was the one he had heard scream. His voice was distorted, indiscernible as any language, just a series of noises fueled by anger and frustration. High pitched and just short of wailing. Were it not for the blood coating the front of his clothes and licking all the way up to his elbow he might have consider it child-like.

Zach’s eyes were crazed, but Bobby could see he was still conscious. Zach was in the midst of a massive panic attack and trying desperately to dissociate through it. Looking at the rest of him, Bobby’s stomach clenched. The beanie had served its purpose. Zach’s head had been shaved in random stripes, angry red and razor burned, bits and pieces of his scalp scabbed over. Bobby spotted the hat in Daken’s clenched fist. Zach sobbed like a wounded animal and Bobby’s ice armor retreated before he pulled him close and let him bury his face in his chest.

Daken did not seem close to stopping, not anytime soon. Bobby found his voice again after rocking in place with Zach, tucking his chin into what remained of his hair and soothing him with soft reassurances he was going to be okay.

“Daken…” He croaked out louder. He cleared his throat, pretended the wetness on his face was the rest of his ice melting. “Daken.”

“He didn't have a history of hurting children. If anything he wanted him as a bodyguard. He was going to treat him well.” He snarled and kicked the body as hard as he could. “Is that why I didn't find you sooner, you son of a bitch?! Because you were having too much fun _slapping a teenager around_!”

“Daken!”

He spun around, eyes black as an oil spill. “What?!”

“We need to get out of here.’ Bobby rationalized. It wouldn't be long before someone found them standing over a dead member of the Hellfire Club. “ _He_ needs to get out of here.”

That seemed to reach him at last, and Daken withdrew his bloodied claws back into his body. He shoved the hat in his pocket.

The walk back to the car was long and slow. Bobby lifted Zach off his feet and held him against his side where he could hide against his collarbone undisturbed.

Daken dragged his feet. For the first time Bobby noticed he was missing most of his left calf, and his healing factor was stitching the flesh together. Of all things, the clean tan flesh covering the wound churned his stomach.

“You knew this might happen.” He said. Not an accusation but a statement of fact.

“Not this bad.” Daken replied.

“You knew he might need a shoulder to cry on, and you knew you couldn't be that.”

“I couldn't be that.” Daken echoes, the heat in his voice gone.

Daken disappeared ahead, but Bobby was not afraid he had left them. When he came back a bit more bloodied, he reminded himself to look at Zach. He needed to get out of here.

Getting him in the car was easy and the boy passed out as soon as his head touched Bobby’s lap. Bobby tried to make sense of his hair, petting his hand through the remains. The driver’s seat door shut loudly. Any other day Bobby might have joked about getting blood on the precious seats.

“Daken,” Bobby whispered as not to wake Zach. “If you take us anywhere but home, I will cut off your head.”

Daken’s hands tightened on the wheel until his claws threatened to burst through his skin. The car turned the way they'd come and drove straight for Central Park. Dawn was beginning to break through the New York skyline and with it came the warmth of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read every comment and I lovingly reread them for hours. Youre the reason I am motivated enough to continue this story. I am rlly sorry this chapter was Like That. I promise it's the lowest point


	3. Chewing Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to our boys where we left them, and then move forward in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy crap. I am so shocked at the reception for this fic. Ive been holding back from replying to each invidual comment on here because i feel if i start i wont stop. Thank you so much. Everyone has said so many nice things... i am writing this for fun, and i am sincerely grateful you guys are enjoying it.
> 
> If you have a specific question or want to talk about the fic you can contact me on tumblr. My url is cykelops on there too.

Bobby called ahead so the mansion would be ready for them. The comm patched him through to the night shift, and Piotr answered his call. Bobby explained the situation in clipped sentences, warned Zach would need medical attention. Piotr must have sensed Bobby’s perturbed state, and gave his instructions in an even, composed voice. Dr. Nemesis would be roused and sent to the clinic to tend to him—to _them_ , Piotr had said, but Bobby didn’t have a scratch on him.

The night air would clear his mind. He leaned back and let it wash over him. The wind caressed his cheeks and weaved through his hair, cool and gentle. He had been around Zach’s age when his powers manifested. His mother had known first. He made her _swear_ she would not tell his dad before he showed her what he could make with his hands. Snowballs and icicles, fist sized and short lasting. She agreed to keep his secret— until the day his face turned blue and the sheets on his bed hardened to ice. His father was a stern, impassive man, neither cruel nor distant, but not the most comforting image for a fourteen year old to have looming wordlessly over his head.

The first time he had talked to Bobby about his powers he had broke down in tears. Bobby didn’t know what he had done to break the heart of a man he thought of as invincible, but the young boy cried every night thereafter. His mother’s hands grew permanently chilled from holding him and stroking his head until his sobbing stopped and the frost retreated from the windows.

“Wake up.”

Bobby opened his eyes. Disoriented, he hastily reached for the hand on his shoulder and held on tight. He squinted at the figure beside him in the dark, his vision slowly focused, and Daken begun to take shape in swaths of moonlight. He held the backseat door open and waited for Bobby to come back to himself.

“Get the kid out of the car.” He said.

“Huh?”

“Get Zach out of the car.”

 _Zach_. Frantically, Bobby reached down to make sure he was still there even though he could feel the weight of his head on his thigh. He let out a sigh of relief. Zach had begun to breathe normally in his sleep, and his shaking had subsided to nothing.

Bobby turned his hand and flinched. Dried blood had rubbed off on his palm. His fingers trembled finely, and he closed his hand into a fist and flexed until the tremors disappeared.

He got his arms under Zach and maneuvered him onto his lap. The boy stirred but did not wake up. Bobby wrapped an arm around his back and under his knees and carried him out of the car. The door to the mansion opened and Kitty and Piotr ran out to meet them as Daken stepped away.

“Bobby!” Kitty fumbled, she meant to wrap her arms around his neck but realized Zach was in the way. She punched him on the shoulder instead. “Why didn't you call earlier?”

Her voice was considerate to the boy in his arms. Her eyes drifted to Daken and lingered on the blood caked on his skin. As if she found the answers she was looking for, the question evaporated into thin air.

“Alright, Bobby. Just give Zach to Piotr and we—”

“ _No._ ”

He had surprised them, himself included. Nearly as soon as Piotr dutifully stepped forward, Bobby took his own step back. It left all four of them frozen in time, unmoving but for their shifting eyes, waiting for a sign to press play and resume.

Bobby cleared his throat.

“I don't want to move him around more than is absolutely necessary. I can carry him fine, I'm not hurt at all.” He nodded his head towards his companion. “Daken… Well, he did all the saving this time.”

He waited for some form of smug one liner from the man and turned his body expectantly when the pause was a bit too long for one. Like a man possessed Daken pushed off the backseat door and rounded the car.

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked, incredulous. Daken threw himself behind the wheel and kicked the convertible into gear. “Dude?”

With his arm over the back of the seat and one look over his shoulder, Daken made sure the way was clear before he pulled away from the driveway and sped towards the nearest street.

Bobby’s eyes followed until he could no longer see the car and much after the sound of the engine and the dust had settled. It shouldn't have surprised him that the world moved too fast around Daken. Kitty and Piotr wore identical looks of disappointment, Bobby felt scolded even though the sentiment was clearly not directed at him. Piotr was the first to notice his discomfort and a big goofy grin was quick to replace his somber expression. He stood at his side and wrapped one big arm around Bobby. It was only then that Bobby’s frayed nerves quieted enough to make him feel safe.

“Let's go inside, my friend.” He squeezed Bobby affectionately. “I am sure young Zach will be up and “blogging” in no time, yes?”

=

Bobby insisted to sit through Nemesis’ patch-up work. He helped change Zach into a robe so it would be easier to check him for wounds. Much to Bobby’s surprise, the boy was relatively fine. He had no bruises below the waist and the ones on his back were week-old yellow instead of angry purple. The worst of it Bobby had already seen, and Nemesis was careful to disinfect all the cuts on his head and his cheek. Zach was going to be alright.

Bobby had been… terrified. He expected internal bleeding, irreparable mutilation. There was so much blood. Fear had gripped at the most primal parts of him and brought out instincts he didn't even know he had. It didn't feel like him. Fear made him lash out, freak out, call for the nearest _real_ adult.

If there wasn't much wrong with him physically, then the damage he sensed must be emotional.

By the time Nemesis finished Bobby conjured up another excuse to remain all night. He complained about a sudden ache in his hand that worsened every time Nemesis breathed in his direction, much less touched it.

Kitty crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips knowingly. She didn't have anything against Bobby keeping Zach company, but there were things they needed to discuss. One glance with Nemesis’ X-Ray vision should have made the whole thing a bust, but the good doctor had looked at Kitty instead and suggested Bobby was best off staying put.

He winked over his surgical mask when she want looking. Bobby could have kissed him.

That's how he ended up perched on Zach’s bed when the boy woke up. It was a groggy awakening, Zach stared off into space for a time before a lopsided smile grew on his face. Nemesis had given him a mild sedative to help him sleep and it showed in the way he stretched his words.

“Heeeey, teach.”

Bobby chuckled. “Hey, Zach. Slept well?”

“Better than I have in a week.” Zach’s smile turned sour. He rambled. “Couldn't let myself fall asleep. Didn't know what they might do to me when I wasn't paying attention. Not that being wide awake made much of a difference. Baddies like an auuudieenceeee, teach.”

Guilt clouded his mind. There was the obvious burden of the part he had played in the harm that had come to Zach. Had Bobby been responsible for him from the get-go they could have avoided all of this. He was too busy projecting onto the boy, finding him annoying on the basis they were all too similar. Similar enough that Bobby understood what his friends must have felt every time he brushed their concern off with a joke. Grass wasn't _always_ greener on the other side.

But because he knew himself, he knew just what to say.

“Sounds like you're a proper X-Man now. You go ahead and have another nap. Just out of spite.”

“That's the smartest thing you've ever said to me Mr. Drake.”

Bobby felt urged to ruffle his hair so he flicked the boy’s nose instead. Zach barely seemed to notice, transfixed by the wonders of all ten of his fingers.

“Where's Daken?”

“Ah.” If there were right words in this case, Bobby couldn't be trusted to find them. “He's not here.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.” Zach said dreamily. No betrayal, disappointment, or whatever the hell Bobby was feeling about Daken’s abrupt departure. So much for figuring himself out by proxy. “Goodnight, teach.”

Even though it was early afternoon, and Bobby had not had a wink of sleep since he had passed out in the car, he nodded. “Goodnight, Zach.”

=

Zach was in the infirmary for a week. His scratches and bruises were healing without issue, but it was better for his contact with others to be monitored for a time. Dr. Grim, a man Bobby had seen neither hair nor hide from since their time in Utopia, came to speak to him for two hours every day. Every visit lifted Zach’s spirits, even though he spoke of the psychiatrist like he was the enemy.

Bobby returned to his routine. Out of his own volition. He was definitely not kicked out on the second day when Nemesis got tired of his hovering. (The doctor had the unfair advantage of knowing nothing made Bobby feel appropriately chastised like Yiddish.)

Zach had visiting hours, but hogging his time wasn't something Bobby wanted to do. He meandered around the hallway only long enough to be certain he had a healthy stream of visitors and well-wishers.

On the seventh day Dr. Grim gave Zach a vote of confidence and he returned to his dorm room. He could expect a phone call from his mother, but the worst had passed.

Bobby went to check on him right away. He told himself he would just poke his head in, say hello, and let Zach take the next step. He would make himself readily available but not too overbearing. Bobby hyped himself up to it. He was being a responsible adult. The Bobby of a week ago was dead in a dumpster where he belonged.

Oof. Dark. His metaphors needed work.

He didn't even dress up. Kept it suuuuper casual. Who? Him? Why, he just happened to be passing by! No big.

The door to Zach’s room was open, and Bobby could hear a faint whirring sound coming from inside. Curious, he stopped at the door frame with his back against the wall, leaning in just far enough to take a look.

Bobby slapped his hand over his mouth before he could make a sound.

Daken was inside Zach’s room, dressed down from the formal suits Bobby had seen him in twice already. He wore a red letterman jacket with a Japanese character patched on the breast and faded blue jeans. He didn't know the man was even capable standing on the middle ground between running around naked or dressed up like he was attending one of Iron Man’s pretentious parties. He had one hand tilting Zach’s head and the other gripping a hair clipper. On the bed he had laid out a variety of textured shears and bottles of clear-colored hair product next to a duffel bag. Zach was talking far too fast about nothing at all while leafing through the mathbook on his lap. He would stop to take note of something but his mouth would keep on running all the while. Daken’s expression was one of fond exasperation, until he looked up and locked eyes with Bobby at the door.

Daken was genuinely shocked to see him, but he recovered much faster than Bobby could.

He chose to ignore him once it became clear Zach had not spotted his teacher. Bobby watched him sort through his tools, picking one up and using it on Zach’s hair until satisfied and could move on to the next. The mohawk was in its late styling stages, and it looked like Daken had been working on it meticulously for a long time. Bobby wished he had walked in earlier, but he also knew he had trespassed on something he wasn't meant to see. More than anything, Bobby wished he could hate Daken for leaving but he could only be grateful he had come back.

Finally, mercifully, Zach noticed him.

“Mr. Drake! Come in, man. Why are you creeping around out there?”

Bobby laughed far too loud. Like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar he walked in with his hands behind his back.

“Heeeey, kiddo.” Who was he? Scott? “Looks like you're having fun.”

Bobby didn't have to avoid looking at Daken, because Daken was already doing a fantastic job pointedly not looking at him.

“Oh, yeah. My hair was TOTALLY freaking fucked so Daken offered to fix me up.”

“He… offered?” Bobby winced inwardly. He could have done with a bit more tact.

If Daken was offended he didn't show it. He patted Zach on the back.

“All done.”

Zach hopped off the chair to his mirror. He looked at himself every which way and grinned.

“Aww, sick!” He said, building squares around his hair with his hands. “I'm gonna show everyone!”

He ran towards the door and was a full step out before he remembered his guests.

“You're good in here, yeah? I'll close the door.”

The sound of the door slamming shut was like a coffin lid, the final step before burying Bobby alive. After willing the door to reopen with the sheer power of his mind, he turned toward the slightly less impossible task of making small talk with Daken.

“Who keeps letting you in here, am I right?”

Oh. Genius. Truly inspired, Drake.

Daken packed his things significantly slower than necessary, like Bobby was a T-Rex and he expected not to be seen so long as he stayed still. Bobby played into his assigned role, circling him until his butt came to rest with the dresser beside him, placing the flat of his foot casually on the piece of furniture.

“So. Hairstylist, huh?”

“You pick up certain skills when your life is full of flair like mine.”

“I bet.” Bobby ran his fingers through his hair. “Don't suppose you charge cheap. I think I am due for a trim.”

Daken finally looked at him. His eyes caught him unprepared for the umpteenth time. They resembled all number of scary things and things that weren't so scary. The bottom of a well. The new moon. He turned his nose up at Bobby.

“Blondes have only one haircut they're comfortable with and I refuse to be responsible for it.”

“My hair’s brown.” Bobby snorted.

Daken moved closer and swiftly. Bobby dropped his foot without thinking. For the first time he noticed the other man was an inch taller than him.

“Not in this light.” He said nonsensically.

But Bobby _did_ know what he meant. There was just enough water at the bottom of those wells to catch the light of the sun seeping in through the window. He couldn't see himself reflected in them, and he wondered if he was prettier blonde.

“I suppose next you're gonna say my eyes aren't brown, but _hazel with flecks of gold_.” He joked.

“Nothing so cliché as that.” Daken shook his head. “I happen to think brown eyes aren't as ordinary as people would like to believe. It's just an opportunity to enjoy a closer look.”

His arm slipped beneath Bobby’s to retrieve an extra part of the razor he had left unattended. It brought their chests together for longer than it should have taken. Bobby’s mouth tasted inexplicably like hot pennies.

“Like by scooping them out of their sockets?” He tried again.

Daken winked and stepped back to a comfortable distance. It was _madly_ infuriating. He. He was.

He zipped up the duffel bag and threw the strap over his shoulder. Daken radiated contentment in waves, any trace of vulnerability banished from the room. Like someone had filled his pockets with rocks Bobby could not make a move to stop him. He did not say goodbye as he opened the door, but he paused before he could close it.

As if he’d thought better of it, he took a few steps towards Bobby.

“Your number.”

“My number?”

“I should like to have it. I realize now I should not rely solely on X-Men I am related to. Call it networking.”

“What, climbing in through my window not doing it for you?”

“No. Neither is following you around in my car as you go dress shopping.”

It took a while for that line to properly sink in, but once it hit its target Bobby gasped and put his hands over his mouth.

“No!”

Daken tugged at the strap of his bag and looked sheepish. “Yes.”

“You read Twilight!”

“Not my proudest moment, I admit.”

Bobby had a good long laugh. He kept at it while he located a post-it note and a pen, and when he scribbled his digits across the bright pink paper. When he pressed the paper to Daken’s chest, his laughter wore down to a scant few chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont know how i feel about this chapter. There's some tone dissonance still between the first half and the second. There's a reason for it that will be addressed soon, but it still feels wrong
> 
> I wanted our boys to be their better selves. Daken extends an olive branch in the form of his charming self, and bobby doesnt immediately smack him in the face with it. Progress.


	4. All Ice in Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I have some warnings to write about this chapter. There are mentions of drug use, as well as some very unorthodox ways of dealing with trauma after the fact.  
> Some of you might have already heard from my blog, but At Frost Glance is gonna update on weekends now, God-willing. Thank you so much for reading and you can come yell at me about this chapter on Tumblr.

Hours later he remembered to be angry.

Daken  _ left  _ them. He offered no explanation and drove into the night. It was possible he shared the why with Zach, but no such amends were made with Bobby.  They had been partners for a night, and he earned a night’s worth of full disclosure. Bobby would be satisfied even with the justification he expected – Daken  _ wanted  _ to leave and that was the only thing that mattered. 

He considered himself immune to Daken’s secondary mutation, but that wasn’t the only trick Daken had mastered. He had not meant for Bobby to see him in Zach’s room but spun the situation in his favor nonetheless. He left Bobby smiling at his retreating back, coiled so tight around his little finger he might as well be a promise ring. The promise that to Daken’s irresistible force Bobby was no immovable object.

Bobby squinted indignantly at the ceiling. Shoulders hunched, he crossed his arms over the covers and tucked his hands under his armpits. He favored the corner of the bed where Daken hadn’t been. The dip of his weight on the mattress remained the first night, but Bobby wasn’t conscious enough at the time to be upset, so he made do with an overactive imagination. 

It wasn’t like Daken occupied so much of his time. Bobby’s head never stayed with the man when he was out of sight. Bobby took him at face value and in small doses. His eccentricities were amusing, like Saturday morning cartoons, but giving him too much thought led to this… Lying in bed awake, blaming a perfectly good ceiling. Confused.

His pillow vibrated. Bobby fished out his phone and held it far from his face so the light wouldn’t blind him while he unlocked it. He had two unread messages from a number he did not recognize. 

_ Bobby,  _

_ I included directions to the marina. Meet me here tomorrow night at 9:00 pm. Bring your uniform and a change of clothes. If you can't find me, I will find you. _

__           - DKN _ _

 

The second message linked to directions from the X-Mansion to the marina Daken was talking about. From the number of yachts in the pictures, the place was  _ posh _ . Bobby thought of only one way to reply.

_ dude what _

_ Which part of it was confusing to you? - DKN  _

_ LMAO r u signing all ur texts _

_ No.  _

_ did u stop cause i embarrassed u  _

_ No. _

_ do u suck at txtin? _

_ No. _

_ u DO _

_ Are you going to show or not? _

Bobby looked up from his phone and considered it. There were the obvious No-Nos. Meeting Daken in a desolate place was the stuff of horror movies. His last Daken-sponsored adventure had ended with blood on his hands. With Zach home they had nothing left in common and seeing him would not benefit Bobby in any way. Worst of all, it had taken him all of three lines to forget how angry he was a second ago, and they were just  _ texting.  _

_ are u gonna tell me y u left the other night _

_ If you come, I’ll tell you. _

_ k _

_ What is k? _

Bobby left him on read. He slept like a baby.

=

He was an hour late. It wasn't on purpose and it wasn't his fault. The X-Mansion decided to almost blow up that day and it was Bobby’s turn on the clean-up crew for the month. Standing up Daken had its allure, but Bobby wasn't that much of an asshole. He had given his  _ k  _ and tried his best to be on time. He hadn't noticed how late he was until he was halfway there and by then calling ahead would have been pointless. 

Bobby slid into the marina, wearing his uniform as requested, and realized he did not know where to go from there. He sent off a quick text telling Daken where he was but service was poor around these parts. He didn't mind waiting, he made Daken wait long enough. Bobby had to admit it was nice to get away from the mansion. If he were more poetic he might say something about the ocean licking softly along the boats and the distant cries of birds. Feelings, he had ‘em, but that didn’t mean he knew how to talk about them. 

His phone chirped in time with the sound of footsteps. As promised, Daken found him when he could not find him. He was wearing his uniform too: the absence of a shirt and a pair of black pants and black shoes. 

“You're late.”

“Got held up at the mansion. Sentinels are popping up again and Kitty’s not happy about it.”

“Ah, Sentinels. That's why the X-Men don't have time to deal with the Hellfire Club. Storm and Magneto could be spared, their experience alone would make up for numbers.”

“Magneto’s dead.”

Daken’s eyes gleamed over a smile. “Of course.”

Bobby ignored him. “What's the Club up to?”

He nodded his head towards the water. “Walk with me.” 

It turned out one of the yachts was Daken’s. Surprise, surprise. It was the modest size of freakin’ humongous. He leaned over the side to catch the name of the ship written in glossy black paint,  _ Radiance,  _ underlined by Japanese letters. It didn’t exactly ring of Daken to him. He let Bobby into the penthouse where the walls were lined with dark, rich wood and lit by decorative paper lanterns. The room had a bed, a kitchenette, a small library, and two doors, one to the bathroom and one to the hot tub on the balcony. Bobby made a beeline for the tête-à-tête pressed discreetly among the bookshelves and Daken took the hint and sat down beside him.

“You are familiar with the Hellfire Club’s hierarchy?” He asked.

“Everybody is somebody but some bodies are more somebody than others?”

Daken gave him a flat look. “English is not my first language but I don't think what you just said was English.”

“Kings, Queens, Bishops, the whole shebang. It’s made of big-shots with too much money being manipulated by slightly more devious big-shots in the Inner Circle who actually want to take over the world. They deal in everything from arms to drug dens. But most of them are just crooks with weird fetishes.”

Daken’s face lit up, he lifted a finger to stop him there. “Precisely.” 

“The Club is up to weird fetishes?”

“Someone is mobilizing our weird fetishists to be more than intended. The Hellfire Club is very  _ quid pro quo _ , the court satisfies the appetites of the masses, and they feed its coffers. Our latest player is calling for a return to the old ways, with a modern twist. That means an emphasis on rituals, tithes, and sex.” 

Bobby could tell Daken was building up to something but couldn’t just come out and say it. Part of him appreciated the drama, dealing with the Club always made him feel a little like Blade, and Blade was freakin’ awesome. 

“So what’s the twist?” 

“Reforming the Club calls for an end to the hierarchy. No more royals, no more court. Just a High Priestess. Of Satan, that is. The concept is not very creative but its effect is substantial. I have access to their facilities, I know how bad these sacrifices are getting. The cultists have a taste for blood but lack the class to make it admirable. I have information to put a stop to it, I merely need to hand it over to the right person.”

“That… doesn’t make any sense. The court is the Club’s own system of checks and balances. No one holds all the power because they’ve got different roles to play and the guy next to you is always hoping to catch you in a mistake. Why would the Club go for something like this? The sex-crazed nobodies I understand, but what of the current court?” Bobby cut himself off. 

“There’s  _ barely  _ a court,” Bobby whispered. “Magneto is dead. Emma’s got other things on her mind. Shaw, Pryor, Pierce… No court, no one to guide the sheep, no one to fight the High Priestess gimmick.”

Daken relaxed back against the sofa, his knuckles pressed against his jaw and a smile stretched lazily across his face. “You are so very attractive when that bulb goes off above your head.”

“Alright, I get the picture. Sell me on us.”

“Well, it’s your first time, so I wouldn’t have you on the sofa – ”

Bobby snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Daken, buddy, focus. Why do you care? And for when you answer with some vague non-answer: Why am I here?” 

“I stand to profit from continued business with the Hellfire Club. This High Priestess will drain out the Club’s resources and run with them. The entire thing will collapse. I can’t have that. Things are going well in Madripoor, but allies are in high demand..”

Hm, that did not make sense either. There was a great deal of overlap in what Daken’s Madripoor operation offered and what the Club did. He grinned maniacally. Bobby understood a thing or two about business and even more about villains. They did not like to share. It was always a good day when his Masters in Finance and Superheroing met in the middle because Bobby had just caught Daken on a  _ lie _ . 

“You have more to gain from letting the Club burn. You say you got a steady thing going in Madripoor, so in the Club’s down spiral the smart thing to do would be to lay low and then step in to meet demand from customers left behind. Not to mention you wouldn’t have brought me in on this if it was a power play. I think you’re worried. The Club won’t just take itself out, it will end innocent lives in the process. 

You’re trying to help in your own way, without admitting to it. I do not think you know how to be a hero. I think you buried that a long time ago in an attempt to forget it altogether.”

It was neither kind nor accurate to turn Daken’s own words against him. Bobby’s sexuality and Daken’s aversion to heroism were only the same in the sense they were things that could be used against them.  Sure as water’s wet, whatever joy Bobby scored quickly evaporated. He stumbled on an answer to his own question before he managed to wring it out of Daken.

“That night… You left because I said you saved Zach’s life.” 

Daken’s voice was eerily even, his expression distant and calm, knuckles tight, reminiscent of their walk back to the car with Zach and the drive to the mansion. Cold.

“It was factual but incorrect.” 

“How can that be?”

“You had me on your bed, you undressed for me, ran away from home in the middle of the night because I asked, in public you let my fingers dig into your thigh and my mouth – ”

Bobby flushed. “That’s – ”

“Factual, but incorrect.” Daken thawed out with a winning smile. “Context is everything.”

There would be no point in continuing the argument. They liked to trade barbs under the pretense they had it all figured out, but they barely knew each other. Daken’s Gordian Knot was surely meant to be cut through in one fell swoop but Bobby was not the man to do it. 

“Care to guess the answer to your second question, Iceman? Since you’re so clever.”

Bobby shrugged. “You’re outnumbered. Wolverines are well and good at assassinations but there’s every possibility you’ll be overwhelmed. I stun, my range is long as it’s wide, I am not limited to manipulating my environment, I can create a brand new one. I can go defense, offense, and even cover our retreat. And no matter who they have and what they do… You’ll have an omega level mutant on your side.”

Daken had cut back on the smolders some, but it was in his nature and he could not always keep it at bay. Like now. “You are  _ wasted _ in that mansion.”  

“Flatterer.” He said blandly. “Who are we handing the info to?” 

He smiled coyly and stood up. “If you want to find out, you best come along.”

Bobby groaned and hit his head on the back of the couch. Daken offered him his hand and helped him to his feet as Bobby childishly let all his weight go limp. Even he knew his exasperation was just for show. 

=

Daken insisted he borrow an outfit after discovering there had been some miscommunication. Bobby’s idea of a change of clothes was a tank top and some track shorts. He wasn’t sure what train of thought his brain had been following when he decided that’s what he would need after popping over to Daken’s. He slipped Bobby a sky blue shirt striped in light gray and a pair of tight, white slacks. Wearing Daken’s clothes was fine so long as he didn’t sit on that and consider it for too long. It was better than the alternative, Blade certainly never wore track shorts to a deal. 

He drove them to a little hole-in-the-wall appropriately named  _ The Rabbit Hole _ . This time the front door wasn’t an option, they went around the street and a girl let them in through the kitchen. The entrance fee wasn’t cash. Bobby stood around awkwardly in the hustle and bustle of cooks who ignored him so long as he stayed out of their way while Daken closed the door with a wink and returned to the alley they’d come in from for all of ten minutes. 

“You kill her?” Bobby asked after he came back in, girl curiously absent. 

Daken strolled past him, humming. “She  _ did  _ get her first look at Heaven.”

“That’s cheesy. Even for you.”

They cut through the kitchen politely and with no fuss. Daken put his hand on the door and squinted through the fogged window. Bobby got tired of watching him fiddle with the handle, and he reached for the one beside it. Daken smacked his wrist and gave him his best no-nonsense voice.

“Three rules, snowflake: Do not drink anything, do not eat anything, and do not leave my side.”

“That leaves out so many things. Can I smoke? Do you encourage me to smoke?”

Daken grinned and pushed the doors open. “You’re not gonna have much of a choice on that one.”

He was hit by the stench of opium and unidentifiable chemicals. The smoke clouded his vision, stung like needles, and tickled his throat unpleasantly. He coughed hard and pressed the back of his hand against his face, eyes watering. Moving through the fumes was like drinking gasoline in a dust storm, he treaded carefully over the bodies strewn across the floor, easily declared dead if it wasn’t for the hookah pipe stems sticking out of their mouths. Bobby raised the shirt collar and breathed in. Daken’s laundry detergent was a welcome reprieve from the stink of emergency room mixed with back-alley trade.

“It’s only this room.” Daken was a blurred figure a few steps ahead but Bobby could just make out his voice. On a whim he reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket, sticking close as a duckling until, sure enough, they were out in clean air again. 

“How does food go through  _ there _ ?” He asked incredulously. 

“It mostly doesn’t. There are other doors.” 

“Why the hell didn’t we go through those then?!”

Daken smiled wryly. “Would have drawn too much attention. Trust me, it smells worse for me than it does for you.”

They came into a hall lit by emergency lights. He wished it looked like  _ The Shining _ because beige walls and red carpeting would have been preferable to the pitch black tunnel of ebony doors with glistening silver numbers.  They passed a girl no older than Bobby in a corset and fishnet stockings, holding one of those popcorn boxes salesmen used at baseball games, but instead of popcorn she had clean needles by the dozen. Sticking close to Daken was proving very easy. The man knew where he was going. He stopped at one of the lacquered doors, number 9, and turned the knob without knocking. 

“Not even locked? You need to start thinking about better security if you want to throw in with the Hellfire Club.” He clearly wasn’t speaking to Bobby. 

“No disrespect to your healing factor, Daken, but I can toss things across the room with my mind. My security is not exactly an issue.” 

There was a familiar lilt to the stranger’s voice. It was young with a touch of arrogance, which didn’t narrow it down much. Bobby waited at the door, following an instinct, and Daken walked on with no such reservations. 

They weren’t in a standard hotel room. It was more like an office or a studio for someone with the cash to furnish it like a palace. Two muscled men stood at either side of the desk at the center of the living room space. As if the bodyguards didn’t add enough fuel to the drama, the stranger’s chair was facing away from them while he spoke. 

“I trust you have the information I requested?” He said. 

Daken produced a rumpled folder from underneath his jacket. He threw it down on the table, and one of the bodyguards moved to examine it. He skimmed through the contents and handed it to the boss. Bobby caught a glimpse of a white sleeve and a metallic sheen. 

“It’s everything you need to discredit the High Priestess. Where she came from, what she really wants...”

“Where she came from doesn’t help me.” He clicked his tongue. “If anything it will make her all the more appealing to these people. Emma Frost come again, here to revitalize the Hellfire Club and abolish the pesky court system. Even an idiot could see through her ruse, but we are dealing with less than idiots. I am more of Emma’s legacy than she’ll ever be.”

He knew that voice. He couldn’t pinpoint from where exactly, but he was so sure… Bobby moved closer, hoping to get a better look. Daken spread his stance before he could go any further than where he was standing and shot him a glare. 

“That’s what the rest of the evidence is for. She has a body count and a paper trail. Smart girl like her planned ahead. To us, it’s more dirt to pack on her grave.”

“Good. I’ll take a longer look at it, but for now, I am confident this will be useful. Congratulations, Daken, you might just have a hand in crowning the next White King.”

The chair spun. 

Bobby drew in a sharp breath. “Julian?”

Julian Keller. Flesh, metal, and telekinesis. He wore an American cut, white suit and the beginnings of a beard sharpened his face some, but he was the snot nosed brat Bobby could recognize anywhere. 

His voice lifted and cracked. “You brought a fucking narc with you, Daken?”

Julian Keller was supposed to be dead, if not dead then dying. They lost him during the Inhuman war, along with so many others. Or so it had been reported. Bobby wondered how many of the  _ lost  _ mutants just never bothered to call home. He backed up towards the door again, eyes trained on the two bodyguards who suddenly looked a lot more serious. 

“Watch your tone with me and mine, boy.” Daken snarled.

Kitty would want to know Julian was alive and he was up to. Keller was a clever boy, and because he was clever he couldn’t let Bobby walk out of there and  _ narc  _ on him.

“You think he’s  _ yours? _ ” Julian cackled. He stood from behind the desk and his prosthetics glowed a sickly green. Bobby heard the lock turn on the door and still found himself yanking at the handle. Trapped. “He’s a drone already running back to his queen.” 

There was no way to discreetly gird his shoulder in ice armor. Daken turned towards him to watch as he stepped back and barged through the door. “ _ Iceman! _ ”

So maybe Julian was right. Maybe  _ run  _ was all he needed to hear before he booked it. He knew how to pick his battles. The way Julian spoke about the title of  _ White King  _ implied it wasn’t a sure thing. Too new. A shiny toy he wasn’t going to let anyone take away. He couldn’t see the boy hurting him, but he could see him throwing him in a brig until he figured out something else.

He refused to come out the way they came in, and he ran past the hookah room without a second look. As in any maze, Bobby took every right turn. He was already mashing the world’s fastest  _ SOS  _ into his comm. Playing Hardy Boys with Daken had been fun, but the X-Men had done the Hellfire-Club-run-by-kids thing before. He pushed through anyone standing in his way and nobody retaliated, either too dazed or too afraid to follow the man running like bloodhounds had his trail. 

His comm beeped once, twice, and then abruptly died. 

No. No, no, no. Nonono _ nonono _ . 

Bobby plastered himself into a corner. He held the comm to his chest and took quick, useless glances down at it to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. No amount of button mashing did the trick. He was good and cut off from his team in an unfamiliar building, being hunted by a telekinetic, his goons, and a vindictive man he’d just abandoned.  _ Everything’s coming up Bobby. _

The wall gave out behind him and Bobby squawked as he fell onto the ground.  _ Oh _ . The  _ fucking  _ black doors on black walls, who’s brilliant idea had that been? Heels clicked softly next to his head and a feminine voice bubbled cheerily above him. 

“Hello?”

The short young woman wore a red cloak, furred around the collar. Her blonde hair peeked out of the edges of her hood and she held out her hand in front of her revealing a studded, fingerless glove. Her most striking feature, however, was the distinct absence of  _ eyes  _ above her button-nose. 

“Is anyone there?” She asked. 

Bobby rushed to get back on his feet and shook her hand vigorously. He repeated the motion for longer than it was polite. 

“Yeah, uh, hello. I am here. It’s me.”

She tipped her head curiously, angling herself towards the sound of his voice. “Are you my escort to the ball?” 

Bobby’s mouth gaped without an answer. He did not know how to feel about lying to this girl as she smiled expectantly. Lying right then would take care of a few things, finding a way out chief among them. Looking for an exit would be easier if he was able to blend in.

He signed his sentence. “That’s me.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She trilled. “I thought I was going to be late. I don’t usually have a hard time getting around by myself but all the halls in this place are so featureless.”

“Tell me about it.” Bobby snorted.

“May I take your arm?”

“Go ahead.” 

He looked down to where he was still awkwardly holding her hand. He wrapped it around his elbow and gave her knuckles a good pat. He shouldn’t feel bad about a little white lie, but the girl seemed too sweet to belong in a place like this. She was all smiles and giggles and her skin was soft and cold. Bobby trusted a girl with cold hands. 

“Is this your first time coming to one of the celebrations? I think you’ll really enjoy them. My friends were always telling me,  _ Brandi, you’ve got to take a look at this thing  _ and I am so glad I did!” 

So her name was Brandi, that was useful. The room next door opened and a man dressed in the same red cloak as Brandi stepped out. He greeted them with a nod and walked down the hall. Bobby took that as his cue to follow him. Brandi and the man were most likely going to the same place. He was thinking quick on his feet. 

Making small talk with Brandi was surprisingly easy, she was more than happy to fill the silences. She had a Valley girl charm that put Bobby at ease. 

The dim halls soon gave way to rooms Bobby recognized as more characteristic of the Club. Gilded columns held up the frescoed ceiling, chandeliers rained down and washed the walls with their glow. People dressed in the same identical clothes poured in around them. With all the red cloaks Bobby would be mistaken for a waiter and not an attendee. At the very least, he was moving in the right direction. It was its share of scary. There was no room for leagues of apartments, a parlor, and a ballroom in the building Daken and Bobby had come in from. There was some magic at work, some  _ bigger on the inside  _ DW shit. Either that or Bobby had been walking a hell of a lot longer than he thought.

Brandi squeezed his arm. “Could you take me up the stairs, please?” 

It took very little maneuvering on his part, people were quick to part for Brandi. The Hellfire Club wasn’t above basic human decency. Taking the stairs was a slow process but Bobby was happy to help. Brandi giggled and held her cloak where she wouldn’t step over it with her heels. At the top of the stairs, she flagged down a waiter for a drink. When she released his elbow Bobby thought himself free from his task. He would excuse himself to the bathroom and take the opportunity to find an exit. 

Brandi raised her glass above her head and the whole room when quiet. “We’re all in for an unexpected treat!” 

The lights brightened to an afflictive extent, blinding Bobby until he could see only black blobs against a white background. He swayed dangerously on his feet, holding his hands out for balance. Brandi turned her head towards Bobby, pinning him in place with the void of her eyes. Like a toy soldier winded up and ready to go, Bobby straightened robotically. 

Brandi downed the champagne flute and dropped it on the floor to shatter. She grinned brightly, shrugging off her cloak and stretching her arm towards Bobby. 

“ _ Mister Robert Drake. _ ” She sang. “It’s an honor.”

Bobby’s eyes went round, his tongue sat limply in his mouth, far as the rest of him. Brandi tapped her temple mockingly. 

“I never forget a face. Do you?”

Brandi’s telepathy was rough around the edges and she met resistance in Bobby’s mind. The process of overriding his mental blocks was as painful for her as it was for him, but her twitching grin remained even as a drop of blood dripped over her lips. She painted a picture for him, two almond-shaped eyes where they ought to have been, and Bobby took it like a punch to the chest. 

He made a hollow sound without his tongue. His brain screamed. 

_ Stepford Cuckoo.  _

“Just in the face, sweetheart.” Brandi clarified. “I am one of Emma’s girls, yes. But I went…” She motioned towards her face and the eyes melted back into skin. “A bit  _ wrong _ .” 

Brandi twirled a knife drawn from her hip, gemstones glittered on the hilt. She handed Bobby the blade and his body took it without hesitation. As if he’d been jolted out of the forefront of his own mind, he could only watch as he pressed the serrated edge against his Adam’s apple. He marched forward for all the room to see. The dagger’s teeth nicked his throat, drawing a small line of blood. 

Now addressing her audience, Brandi took his arm by the wrist and raised the stained blade overhead. 

“Our vessel makes the first cut.” She beamed. “Who wants to go next?” 

People clamored for his blood. It wasn’t the first time Bobby found himself in the hands of a bloodthirsty mob, but never before had he been unable to  _ move,  _ or  _ speak.  _ Scream. Panic sprouted in his chest like a weed.  _ Stupid _ . So stupid. Coming here with Daken,  _ not  _ running out the fucking hookah room into the street when he had the chance. Stupid mistakes, the kind Kitty, years his junior, would never make. 

“Louder! I can’t hear you!” Brandi screeched.

“Hear  _ this _ !”

With Julian’s voice, the room erupted into chaos. White and green broke through the ocean of blood at the bottom of the stairs. Cloaked bodies flew and smashed against the walls like ragdolls. Brandi growled and freed her hands, sending off a psychic blast.

He was in a room of mirrors. He walked towards his reflection and found himself no closer to it than he had been when he arrived. Every step forward drove it back. Glass over silver muffled the screams coming from the outside and set alarms off in Bobby’s head. This is not where he was a second ago. He had never  _ been  _ here before. Bobby screamed but the only sound was that of the mirrors shattering all at once around him. He sunk to his knees and curled up with his arms over his head. 

A voice pulsed beneath the cracked glass. 

_ “Hello, snowflake. I know you’re in there.” _

Bobby’s head snapped up. He was. He was! He had no voice with which to answer it. Bobby wrapped his fingers around his throat and felt the warmth of his own blood.  _ His throat _ , he had cut his own throat.  _ Why did he do that? _

“ _ Snowflake, ice these sons of bitches. _ ”

Bobby took a big, gulping breath and felt ice in his lungs.  _ It burned _ in a way he had long forgotten. Snowflakes formed on his lashes and cracked open his lips. The cold nipped at the tips of his ears and at the bottom of his feet. Bobby raised his hands up to his face and watched them grow stiff. As crystals periodically replaced his numbed skin he saw his own veins clear as glass, pumping blood from his heart, slow and steady. Every bit as calm as he wasn’t feeling.

“ _ Bobby _ .” 

His name tugged at the parts of him that were not made of winter. He gasped. The ice paused around the curve of his cheekbones. Never had his transformation been so slow, measured, and  _ complete.  _

Bobby looked down. Daken’s hand was caught in his chest, buried in his torso. The visible skin around his wrist was more black than blue, and yet – His face was soft, unconcerned.

A careful circle around them was the only spot in the hall left untouched by the flurry. Bobby had, indeed,  _ iced  _ those  _ sons of bitches _ . Brandi, Julian, and the rest of them, frozen in place. The walls, the stairs, the tile — Frost-touched as if a blizzard had broken through the windows. Snow fell in flakes from the painted dome and melted on Daken’s warm skin.

Bobby had very clearly exerted himself. He hadn’t seen so much  _ blue-white  _ since the Apocalypse seed. He didn’t remember doing any of it. Whatever sliver of protection he had afforded Daken had been entirely by chance. 

“None of them are dead.” Daken said.

No, of course not. Quickly approaching exhaustion he had let the ice control him, but even when he wasn’t entirely himself, he was a good man. 

He blinked the snow out of his eyes. Bobby’s arms begun to melt back to skin. It was a process unlike shedding his ice armor, and only when he regained control of himself did he wrap his hand around Daken’s forearm.  

“Daken?” He asked, receiving a hum in response. The world was fuzzy and remote, like those silly pictures of yetis he liked so much. “What’s my name on your phone?” 

Bobby had nearly killed them both and obtained less of a reaction. Daken was puzzled by the question, even a little lost. He answered to satisfy his own curiosity as much as Bobby’s.

“Bobby.” Daken repeated. 

“Ah.” Bobby affirmed. His hand moved to grip Daken’s wrist and he dislodged his hand from his chest with a jerk. “So I  _ can’t  _ say that’s the first time you’ve ever used my name...”

For all the levity of the remark, Daken understood the significance behind it.  _ Snowflake, Iceman,  _ never quite  _ Bobby.  _ Until now. Daken’s name was a weapon turned blunt from overuse, Bobby’s was a token of intimacy. That he was ready to use it and Bobby to accept it was no mere coincidence. They were moving closer together simultaneously. Literally. Daken flattened him against the wall, parted his thighs with his body until Bobby rose to the tips of his toes, braced against the marble. If it was hard to maintain eye contact, it was harder to break it. 

“I like it.” Bobby added like as an afterthought, the words rasping his throat. 

Daken waited.

It wouldn’t be the first time he was with someone who wasn’t good for him. They gravitated towards this from the moment Bobby let him lead their first dance. Daken made his adrenaline-ridden body sing. No matter how brief, this would feel good. It would be  _ cathartic _ . It would be worth it. Daken would make sure of it. All he had to do to have it was let this moment pass.

He shook his head so faintly he thought Daken might miss it, but their lips only met in a whisper.

“Let’s get out of here, Bobby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that wasn't too cuckoo. (cackles). This chapter is a mess.


	5. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The X-Men search for clues about Julian Keller with the help of an old friend, and encounter a few unfriendly faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. The hurricane had me so stressed, and then the depression took over after that. I hope this chapter is a sufficient apology.
> 
> We have fan stuff!!!  
> [a beautiful edit by wolvermeans](https://wolvermeans.tumblr.com/post/164963436324/at-frost-glance-they-gravitated-towards-this)  
> [a playlist by anonymous](https://cykelops.tumblr.com/post/164736651997/a-playlist-inspired-by-at-frost-glance-my-entire)  
> [a scene from last chapter illustrated by forestoffire!](https://forestoffire.tumblr.com/post/165193943991/based-on-a-scene-from-cykelopss-awesome)  
> [daken and bobby's texts by theresa cassidy](https://theresacassidy.tumblr.com/post/165128795413/daken-and-bobbys-texts-from-cykelopss-fanfic-at)
> 
> I hope I didn't miss anyone's work!! On with the chapter.

 

They called Kitty as soon as they were able. Bobby gave her a rundown of the situation and the exact location where he had gift wrapped the Hellfire Club for her.

Daken applied something viscous and minty across his throat. Bobby flinched against the sting, the area had long stopped bleeding but still felt tender. He peeled a patch bandage from the first-aid kit and pressed it over the wound to keep it clean. It was relatively shallow given the blade, infection and twisting his head around too hard were all he had to worry about now. He watched Daken clean his hands with a hand wipe and shut the kit back into the nightstand. The mirror above the bed helped Bobby keep still while Daken worked and gave him a full view of himself lying on the man’s bed, arms tucked against his side and legs dangling over the edge.

He didn’t have to guess what the mirror was for. Bobby caught himself looking for his best angle and flushed. A distraction was in order.

“What use do you have for a first-aid kit?”

Daken’s claws broke over his knuckles. “Risky BDSM.”

Bobby kicked him on the leg. “Come on, be serious. What do you need it for? You got your healing factor.”

Daken chewed on that. He walked around Bobby’s legs and dropped down beside him in most the same position. He traced a line of his tattoo idly from his chest to his shoulder.

“I lost it not so long ago. Lost an arm too. I made a habit of cutting into the meat in hopes it would trigger regrowth. I do not know if it worked, or if my healing’s return occurred through pure chance.”

He talked about losing what was arguably his strongest mutation in the same way he talked about any other commonplace inconvenience. It was shocking enough to be unbelieveable. Bobby broke eye contact with the mirror and turned his head towards him.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“I thought you were owed a bit of honesty after today’s unpleasantness. Bravo, by the way.” He grinned. “Your performance was most unexpected. We’re not so bad together, you and I. For a would be martyr, you still seem to have your survival instincts about you.”

Except Bobby hadn’t done anything. He got himself caught, at best. Put himself in the life of danger. His body acted out of its own volition, edged on by Daken’s instruction. Bobby smiled, a deformed thing that was half grimace and ground teeth.

“Meh, I couldn’t die if I tried.”

Like one too many trips to the shrink, Daken made him divulge thoughts that had no business being voiced. Daken was an Other in his life, an entity so far removed from his inner circle it didn’t matter what he knew because he had no reason to care. Their problems were universes apart. It was easy to fall into a rhythm of one upping each other through oversharing. He had no way of knowing if Daken felt the same way, it could all be in his head.

Bobby smoothed the pads of his fingers over the patch. The ice had taken care of healing most of the damage, and a few more minutes in his frozen form would have his throat good as new, but he wanted to keep the bandage. For a few more minutes. Or until he went home. He just didn’t want to offend Daken.

“Your body has serious defense mechanisms. My hand wasn’t against your chest, it was inside it. I could feel shards of you moving around to accommodate it.”

He was right. The memory echoed in his chest. The ice would have taken Bobby first and then, when he was safe, it would take Daken next. All-consuming. Bobby shivered.

“I’ve been unable to turn back from ice before but…” He sighed. “It didn’t feel like that. It was more like I couldn’t get warm. I could still feel my body beneath the armor, and every movement cut against it. This time… I  _was_  ice.”

He had no pleasant memories of that time. Trapped beneath a shell of his own making, moody and uncooperative towards his teammates, he struggled with a problem without an easily pinpointed source. He couldn’t explain it and snapped at any attempts to help him like he didn’t want to. What was he supposed to do? Tell them winter wasn’t rational? That the ice didn’t always bend to the Iceman’s orders? Ridiculous.

“It sounds like you have more untapped potential still. Does it worry you?”

He saw the opening and took it, eager to leave the too-serious conversation behind. Bobby grinned. “The cold never bothered me anyway.”

Daken nodded sagely, clearly missing the reference for the second time. Just like that, the turbulence in Bobby’s mind dissipated. Bobby’s grin broke into snorts and giggles that furrowed Daken’s brow in confusion. He smacked him on the wrist and then again on the hip when he didn’t stop laughing.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not!” He laughed. “It’s nothing. I promise. Bad timing.”

He got another resentful smack, but Daken seemed to buy his response. Bobby’s laughter died down to uneven breaths. He smiled at his reflection, so widely his cheeks hurt. Over the years he discovered new things about himself, all as exciting as they were mind-numbingly terrifying. Such was the curse of omega mutants, constant evolution paired with constant fear. Bobby had friends to get him through it. Daken wasn’t a friend, but he was certainly a welcome distraction. His smile crinkled the lines around his eyes. In the mirror, Daken sat up,

“Would you like a ride?”

“Ugh, babe. I am so tired.” Bobby drawled. “Can’t I just lie here and you do all the work?”

This time Daken reached over him to grab a pillow and smack him across the face and chest several times. Bobby shouted random scores for creativity and curled up into a ball to fend him off.

=

Kitty left the report up on his screen and he still couldn’t believe it. _The Rabbit Hole_ leveled to rubble. The hookah den, the apartments, the ballroom, and, most importantly, every member of the Hellfire Club disappeared. Kitty called Dani in and she confirmed there were no bodies in the wreckage. City Hall had the building marked for demolition months before. The Club got up, walked out. and destroyed the evidence the place had ever existed. Third parties were undoubtedly involved. There was no way they could have gotten out of Bobby’s ice fast enough on their own. 

It was imperative they find Julian before he got into real trouble. With everyone dead or missing it was hard to rely on old contacts. Kitty didn’t want to drag Ororo into it and she wasn’t about to involve any more students regardless of how many times Bobby coughed Quentin Quire into his sleeve. She told Bobby she had a guy on the inside looking into it, and all they could do was wait. 

Daken wasn’t any help. If he knew anything he wasn’t saying, no matter how often he and Bobby texted back and forth. 

Bobby learned a few things from his threads with him. Daken always said good morning but never goodnight. The guy was sporadically available throughout the day, that meant a text from 2:00 pm got answered either twenty seconds or twelve hours later. It was clearly the first time he ever had someone who sort-of understood what he did well enough he could just liveblog his day without a sixty page prologue to every story. Bobby didn't mind, he had been the first one to complain to Daken about his second-period class because everyone else in the building was tired of hearing him say the same shit every day. He texted Daken to see what would happen and expected to get told off, not prodded for more.

It was nice, this middle ground between them, and it was so stupid-easy to hold a conversation. Most likely it had something to do with Daken being an evil mind reader, but so long as he was picking Bobby apart he wasn't hurting anyone important, so it was a nice arrangement. 

Bobby’s phone pinged. 

_ What are you wearing?  _

That was Daken’s version of a ‘ _talk to me, I'm bored_ ’ text. Bobby looked up, his students focused on their work, he had some time to kill.

_ sweater vest, high-waisted khakis, a haunted family heirloom hanging around my throat  _

_ Vintage. Very attractive. I am wearing your salary for the next sixteen years.  _

_ dnt u have a thin?  _

_ Thing was cancelled. Our buyer didn't show.  _

_ he die _

_ Eloquently put. It is one of many possibilities. Let's not talk business. Pool? _

Oh, yeah. Bobby snorted at his phone. Another thing he learned. Daken fucking loved shitty mobile games. 

_  i got time 4 pool _

They played pool throughout the day, and their game had ended late into the night. Bobby had all morning to sleep before Kitty pulled him into the mission after she had finally heard from her “guy on the inside”.

Logan and Kitty came in from the back of the Blackbird, Bobby greeted the man good morning and received a well-meaning grunt in return before they took their seats. Bobby had already claimed co-pilot and he helped Kitty set up. 

“Where's this thing?” 

“It's a rooftop garden party. We're coming in to get our info before our contact has to leave the area tonight.” She explained. “He has experience bartending for the shady types and he's got an established rapport so there won't be an issue with his cover.”

“We're going to a bad guy party?” Bobby groaned. “I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime.”

“Daken take you out a lot?” 

Bobby let out a laugh at Logan’s question reflexively. He shook his head at the ridiculousness of it while flipping switches on the board. There was a pregnant pause before he noticed no one was laughing with him. Bobby narrowed his eyes just as the Blackbird picked up and took off. He looked over his shoulder at Logan, and then at Kitty where she sat suspiciously stiff. 

He remembered Logan and Ororo were working on quite an important case with the police. Ororo was downtown right now, in fact, Bobby had seen her leave that morning. This mission was about picking up intel and getting out of there without being noticed by, say, someone who might recognize the iconic Wolverine. Kitty and Bobby had a personal interest in finding Julian, but why was Logan here?

“Is this an ambush?” He asked incredulously. 

Kitty sighed. “Bobby, it isn't--”

“More like an intervention.” Logan offered. “It's not that I mind you trying to be part of the family, kid, but there are easier ways to ruin your life.” 

Bobby paled, he gripped the armrest of his chair.  to  wasn't happening. By the looks of it, Kitty and Logan both believed his relationship with Daken had grown romantic. They were frightened and concerned, enough to corner him in the Blackbird. He covered his mouth with one hand and abruptly broke into giggles. 

“This isn't happening.” He said out loud.

“Bobby, I understand you want to laugh this off but Logan and I are worried.”

Oh, he almost felt bad for laughing. There was so much concern layered in her voice. Bobby didn't know what things they had both gotten into their heads but he could already imagine them. 

“Guys, seriously. It's not what you think.”

Logan leaned back and huffed like he was ready to hear that. 

“We got witnesses, kid. People who saw Daken at the park, and then later that night snooping around looking for your bedroom.”

“That was about Zach. He was there to ask for help--”

“Right. Cause Daken’s ever wanted anyone's help, especially from your side of the tracks. Zach said you needed time alone, and that the two a you were holed up in his room for a while.”

Zach said what. “He left us in there! I was being polite. He's asked the Fantastic Four for help plenty of times.”

“Yeah, I know about the Fantastic Four.” Logan said, like he knew just as well as Bobby that didn't help his argument. “And were you being polite when you let him take you to that swanky party?”

“The one where we took out the entire Hellfire Club and found one of our presumed dead kids, Logan? Yeah.”

“Right, and you came back stinking like the boy all over cause you could only take out the entire Hellfire Club playing backseat bingo. I shouldn't have to explain to you why bad boys are a bad idea, Bobby, even if you're new at this.”

Bobby’s good humor ran dry. Nevermind clarifying he smelled like Daken because he had been on his yacht, and he had lent him clothes for the mission. His voice lowered dangerously. “Don't talk to me like that.” 

“Alright, enough. This was a mistake. This isn't the time or the place to talk about this.” Kitty frowned. “And Logan clearly isn't the person to do the talking.” 

He hadn’t had enough and neither had Logan, opening his mouth to protest. 

_ You don't need to ask 'cause I'm already there _

_ Let's be bad together, baby, you and I _

_ Let's be bad together, if only for a while _

_ Let's be bad together, make the devil smile-- _

It wasn’t Kitty that broke through them but a song coming out of his phone resting on the control board. Daken smiled back at them on his contact photo. The man would never die with that kind of timing. He wasn’t about to explain his choice of ringtone or the inside joke behind it. Bobby would have let it go to voicemail and texted him to let Daken know he was busy on a mission, but he was pissed off and took the call. 

“Bobby speaking.” 

“ _What are you wearing_?” Daken purred.

Bobby took him off speaker too quickly and brought the phone up to his ear. Kitty and Logan wouldn't find it funny. They had clearly already come to their own conclusions. 

“What is it?”

_ “Is that any way to talk to your favorite associate?” _

“Not right now.” Bobby grit out. There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

_“Are you in danger_?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m just in the Blackbird with Kitty and…” He hesitated “And Logan. We’re in the middle of a mission.” 

Daken’s voice fluffed up like cotton candy. _“A mission with daddy and the ex? Sounds like a joyful day for all. I imagine they’re giving you a hard time, you wouldn’t have answered the phone otherwise_.”

“Is that obvious?” 

“ _Just a tad. What are you up to, snowflake_?”

Bobby looked up. Kitty and Logan pretended to mind their own business yet were clearly doing anything but. He focused on finding it funny rather than off-putting or offensive. It was only his friends being overdramatic, treating every little thing like the end of the world. Still, he leaned away while he talked. 

“We’re going to this garden party to pick up some info from a guy about Julian. We’re hoping to find out where he is so we can talk to him.” 

_“... Is this garden party on a rooftop by any chance_?”

Bobby blinked, surprised. “Uh, yeah?”

“ _Hold, please_.”

Daken hung up on him without warning. Bobby held that silence to his ear for a few seconds before he realized what happened. He stared at his phone, head cocked to the side. Holding stretched over the span of a few minutes before Bobby got tired of waiting. He fired off a quick text about focusing on the mission and put his phone away.

“We’re here.” Kitty pressed a button to camouflage the jet and they touched down on a rooftop light as a pigeon. 

Bobby stood closer to the windscreen, the party raging in the building adjacent to their landing pad. There was a bar and a DJ booth, both equally crowded. Archways and trees glittering with fairy lights. Upon request the computer enlarged the image for him, zooming in on one of the tables scattered around the dance floor. 

“Fucking-- Is that _Bullseye_?”

His costume was far from the most eye-catching. Bobby recognized Elektra at his side, somehow not in the middle of killing the man, Shocker, and some guy with a diamond for a head. There were others around the table, but their names didn't come to mind. They laughed, drank, and pushed each other a little too hard. 

“Everyone's milling around in full gear and there are no cops around?” Bobby asked. “What gives?”

“Kingpin.” Logan grunted.

Kitty nodded. “The party has his blessing, at least. It's a networking event, so everyone's showing off the best they can.”

“So it’s a sky-high underworld shindig. Don't see those every day.” Bobby hummed. He sat back in his chair and turned it to face Kitty. “Security must be tight. How are we going to get in? We didn't bring anywhere near enough backup for this.”

“We will wait until the party dissolves. It might take a while but--” 

Logan stepped between them and squinted at the screen. He pointed accusingly at the image. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

Kitty and Bobby followed his finger. On the screen, smiling wide as he pleased, Daken waved happily back at them. 

“Oh, fuck.” said Bobby. 

=

It took some explaining, mostly on Daken’s part. He found them by looking for the biggest roof closest to the scene and following scents even their technology could not mask. He had been invited to the party happening across the street but wasn't interested in the theme. Bobby squinted suspiciously. They had touched on the subject of allies being in short supply at the Hellfire Club ordeal. Daken was playing a different tune, but they were in front of Kitty and Logan so Bobby decided to say nothing. 

Daken tucked two dry cleaning bags against his side. He was shirtless, clad in nothing but blood red slacks and black dress shoes. His hair, lately drawn tight into a bun at the back of his head, fell in his traditional mohawk. A hint of liner brought out his already potent eyes. His easy smile and careless swagger were poorly performed, plastic.

“I thought you might need assistance getting in.” Daken explained. “I doubt three widely known heroes will have an easy time dressed like you are.” 

“We're not going in. We're waiting for our contact to get out after the party.” Kitty crossed her arms over her chest. 

His false smile didn't falter. “Forgive my intrusion, Miss Pryde, but wherever Julian is he will only be there for the night. A couple of hours-- that's how long your contact’s information will be any good. Less if you wait. He is a smart boy, he will stay on the move until you stop looking for him.” 

Kitty’s cheek twitched and she chewed that over in her head. She hated to admit it, but Daken might be right. Bobby understood how she felt, giving that man an inch was like chopping off a limb. 

“Alright, Daken.” She relented. “What's your plan?”

Daken bowed just so. He raised the first hanger above his head. Inside the clear bag was a dress, black sheer over a black bodice that covered the bare minimum to be considered socially acceptable. Lace flowers spread playfully around the sleeves and collar. A monstrosity of roses and embroidery, half mask and half cap, hung inside the bag as well. 

“I have a warehouse nearby. Something like a massive wardrobe. This is a design inspired by a woman I met in the 1960s. They called her Gossamer. She had an affinity for asphyxiating men by shoving lingerie down their throats. She tried it with me, we had a bit of fun after that.”   

He handed the bag over to Kitty who took it like it held a dead body. 

“Ugh, she didn't wear this, did she?”

“Not that one. It's more of a commemorative gesture. Something to spend my ridiculous amount of money on.” Daken shrugged.

Bobby didn't think it was so simple as that. Empty actions weren't exactly Daken's thing. He perked up when Daken outstretched his arm.

“The year escapes me.” He said, holding out the next bag for Bobby without looking at him. “His name, as well.” 

He didn't stop to let Bobby examine it. Unlike Kitty’s it wasn't clear and it had a distinct smell of _dry cleaning_. Daken reached into his pocket and threw something at Logan over his shoulder. 

“I also went down to the Party City and got you an eyepatch.” He gave him a dismissive arch of his brow. “It's worked fine in the past.”

“Real funny, kid.” Logan glowered at the patch but in the end, he stretched it over his head and covered his eye. Bobby had a hard time recognizing him after that. 

Kitty tugged him back into the jet after Bobby started stripping in the open without thinking about it. Kitty took the bathroom to make away with her modesty and Bobby changed just outside. He folded his X-suit and sat it on a chair before finally unzipping the bag. He pulled out the black suit and ran his fingers over the fabric. It felt not unlike his normal bodysuit did. Sturdy stuff, some percentage of leather. There was a zipper on the back and some obvious Limb Goes Here holes to slip into. There were brown accents around the chest, and no sleeves to speak of. Bobby flexed. It fit fine, maybe a little big but it wouldn’t be out of place with him in the field. He kicked his leg to test the give on the pants and was relieved when nothing ripped. 

The zipper was much lower down his back than he was used to. Pressing his ear to the door told him Kitty would be cursing in the bathroom for a while longer. He chose to walk out of the jet. 

Daken was closest to the entrance and he dropped his arms and straightened up when he saw him. Bobby turned around and jabbed his thumb towards his back. 

“Can you get this for me?”

He zipped Bobby up wordlessly, slow as to not catch Bobby’s underwear or his skin in the process. He closed the last stretch up to the nape of his neck with a sharp flick of his wrist. Daken’s hot breath warmed the back of his ear.

“Do you like it?” He asked. 

Bobby looked down at himself. He wouldn’t pick this suit out from a line-up if made to, but it wasn’t the ugliest thing he had ever worn. It was surprisingly comfortable, the leather soft and supple. Yeah, he liked it okay.

“Sure.” Bobby shrugged. “Kinda feels weird to not know whose it is.”

Daken laughed. He patted Bobby’s lower back. “It’s one of mine, snowflake.”

Logan’s low rumble dragged their attention back to the Blackbird. Kitty descended over the ramp like her dress was made of spun sugar, sure to melt off at any second. She let her curls down under the cap, and for all the similarities to her past costumes, she didn’t look any younger. She ground the tip of her rubber-ducky yellow boot against the floor unhappily. 

“The shoes don’t match.” 

“Do not fret, Ms. Pryde.” Daken clapped his hands together. “I parked my car down on the street and I have some heels that will go fine with it.” 

She wasn’t unhappy with the news. Under the pretense of showing off some detail in the embroidery of her dress, Kitty dragged Logan ahead towards the stairs. Bobby knew it was intentional when she tried a subtle look over her shoulder. He nudged Daken on the side. 

“How did you get all this stuff here so fast?”

Daken held his index finger to his lips and pointed down with his other hand. 

“I own the building.” 

Bobby rolled his eyes and playfully pushed past him to follow Kitty and Logan down the stairs. Because _of course_ , he did. 

= 

Getting them on the roof had been the easy part. An ice path, a couple hedges to hide behind, and a crowd to blend into. They went unnoticed, clothes and all. They were underdressed by villain standards, and while accompanying Daken no one was eager to make conversation. Kitty gave instructions and Daken took the lead. Bobby worried going without a mask would make him a target, but nobody recognized him without his armor. People avoided eye contact with Daken and the three ducklings on his trail but did not hesitate to move out of their way. 

Sick and Tired were Bobby’s middle names (well, and Louis). House music and shiny booze had lost their appeal. For the rest of his life. he was going to be associating chandeliers and velvet seats with bad guys playing at high society. 

They wisely avoided the table with all the big names. This mission was strictly about gathering data and not about getting all four of them killed. Everyone in their little squad had proved themselves against death, but there was no need to unnecessarily tempt fate.

Bobby heard their “contact’s” voice before he saw him. 

“Daken! My man. What can I get you?”

Mr. Peter Quill had failed to recognize any other member of their little troupe. That either spoke wonders of their disguises or of Daken’s ability to hold the Guardian's attention. The unmistakable leer as he served Daken a drink he hadn’t asked for was all the answer any of them needed. Bobby had heard a few things about the so-called Grounded Star-Lord, but he was pretty sure his community service or whatever ended months ago. This had personal favor written all over it. No wonder Kitty was being cagey about the whole thing.

“He served as a bartender in this shady place… He had an established relationship with these people. He’s an outlaw half the time! It made sense.” Kitty explained, without prompting and a touch defensively. She squeezed past Daken and hoisted her upper body up on the bar. “Peter!” 

Quill turned towards her like she was any other patron, customer voice and fake smile in full form. “What can I get y-- Kitty?!” 

They traded questions back and forth and gave each other no answers to speak of. Like two brick walls having a tiff. Daken retreated to rest his elbow on Bobby’s shoulder and sigh, watching the exchange unfold, mildly amused. 

“At this rate, if we find Julian on the twentieth anniversary of this very night I will be incredibly surprised.” 

“Not to mention look the same age.” Logan said pointedly. He crammed his small body between them until they had no choice but to split apart. Logan picked up Daken’s drink and downed it in one swig. An irritated muscle in Daken’s jaw jerked. His lips seemed unable to contain the snarl passing as a smile. 

“ _Snowflake_ …”

“Sup, D?”

He wasn't expecting that. His eyes flickered to Logan’s stubborn frown and that was all he needed to recover. Daken grabbed his hand at the wrist and tugged him towards the dance floor. 

“Dance with me.”

“Oh, but-- ” Bobby was dragged along while looking over his shoulder. Kitty and Peter would continue talking in circles whether they were around or not. The music wasn't particularly appealing, and the dancing bodies around them were more grease than water, but Logan wasn't being very nice and Bobby wanted to be as far as possible when the man forgot himself and said something hurtful.

“D?” Daken asked, brow raised. 

“For dude or Daken. Also for duh, D.”

“Cute. Is this about  _ snowflake _ ?”

Bobby huffed. “In part. You make it sound like a slap in the face.”

“That might have been the intention once.” He looked on oddly when Bobby made a questioning sound. Daken was such a shady asshole sometimes.

He glanced at the moon. This building was far above the rest but not so far the light pollution didn’t blot out the stars from the sky. 

“Pity about the stars.” He said to Daken, who tilted his head to examine the scant few clouds. 

“Do you like the stars?” 

“I’ve gotten to see them closer than most, for better or worse. Celestial bodies are something else, y’know. Not good, not evil. Just there. Hot and cold.”

“You have a penchant for saying thoughtful things as if they’ve cost you no thought at all.” Daken mused. “Effortlessness. A rare gift, indeed.” 

As Daken finally pulled him close and did little more besides sway in place, he finally smiled like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Logan's weight, most likely. They didn't bother to move to any rhythm, instead letting their bodies do as they would while they spoke in whispers. 

“I thought I saw Bullseye earlier.” 

Daken sneered. “Unlucky you.”

“No sympathy for an old partner?”

“You overestimate my relationship with the man.”

Bobby hummed. What he knew about Bullseye and Daken was more explicit than what he knew about Johnny and Daken. Following the CIvil War, during Norman Osborn’s takeover of the Avengers, there was something between the two men. One-sided, maybe, on Bullseye’s part. Daken was pretty, he liked being liked. He probably encouraged the attraction until it bored him. Whatever fondness he held for Bullseye was a well run dry if he didn’t even consider him an ex. 

Kitty and Peter caught his eye on the bar. There were two people whose relationship history wasn’t in question. It was in the strained way they moved around one another. Peter’s playful pout and Kitty’s practiced exasperation, echoes of what they had been and were trying to be again without all the strings. It wasn’t impossible for them to be friends again, but it would time to cement that and stop thinking in terms of what was. He wished the best for her. She had succeeded once with Bobby after all. 

He found himself asking. “Is it different with men?” 

“Mechanically? Yes. With a few exceptions. Depends on the man.” Daken answered automatically. The words were suggestive but his tone wasn’t. He understood Bobby’s meaning as he followed the line of his eyes but he was being purposely obtuse. Bobby denied him the easy way out, maintaining his silence as he waited for the real answer.

“You shouldn’t ask me this.” Daken said softly. “I know nothing of love, Bobby.” 

“You love Laura.”

Daken brought them to a hard stop. He regained his senses quickly, resuming their easy swaying as if there had been no pause. 

“I do.” He admitted, tentatively, like he wasn’t used to the sentiment. “But that is not what you were asking.” 

“I guess… I guess I’m asking about Johnny.”

There. They had beat around that bush for long enough. He expected Daken to tense up, change the subject altogether, maybe stop like he had when he brought up Laura. Instead, he laughed. 

“Do you know why I asked you to dance, Bobby?”

Back to the leading questions then. Bobby’s face pinched. Daken could be awfully condescending when he was trying to ensure Bobby was smart enough to grasp what he would say next. 

“You wanted to get away from Logan.” 

“He is not my father, merely a shadow of the man, and still he holds power over me. That is the only thing I am capable of feeling. _Threatened_. Given that, how do I come to care for things when I can only care about myself? I claim them as mine. My tools, my pack, my family. I protect what is mine above all things because it benefits me to do so. So, I’ll ask again, snowflake, why did I ask you to dance?”

Daken ground out the words like it pained him. It was fascinating to find someone so self-aware and yet so incredibly _oblivious_. Bobby did not know him and he could not pretend to. It was Daken’s right to define himself on his own terms. There were words at the tip of his tongue itching to bring the contradictions to life, but Daken was older than him by decades, surely he knew himself better. Bobby would take his perspective as fact, but worldviews could be manipulated.

“You think I am Logan’s pack. I am his, so he cares for me. You took me away to hurt him, to show him you could.” 

Daken did him the courtesy of appearing penitent. He nodded. His lips quirked into a smile, the satisfaction he got every time Bobby answered him correctly and better than he expected. 

“Except I am not his to have.” Bobby continued. “I am certainly not yours. You know why you asked me to dance, but do you know why I said yes?”

Bobby took the lead in the faint movements of their bodies. He wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but he knew his way around choreography. Hand-to-hand combat was a dance in itself and one familiar to them both. On Bobby’s cues, their steps widened, free and fluid. They found the beat of the music, Daken’s pulse beat steady against his wrist, kicked up when Bobby touched his bare back. Bobby tightened his grip around the man's waist. Daken did not resist as he was dipped halfway to the ground. 

“It’s about what I want, D.” Bobby grinned. “And I want to swing.” 

Daken stared up at him half like he was crazy and half something else Bobby could not place. With nowhere else to go his hand came to Bobby’s shoulders and stroked up his neck. The answering smile had an edge of hysteria to it. Daken opened his mouth to speak.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” 

Kitty materialized out of nowhere like a pigeon slamming into a windowpane. Bobby’s hand damn near slipped on the sweat at Daken’s back as he tried to stand up straight and miscalculated how much of the man’s weight he was actually holding up. They scrambled to find steady footing in a mess of limbs until they were holding each other much tighter than originally intended. Bobby’s murmured apology was half laughter, made worse by Daken’s befuddled expression. 

Oh, right, Kitty. 

“What?” They said simultaneously. 

Kitty, bless her heart, appeared unperturbed by their unintentional endeavor into slapstick. She nodded over her shoulder. “You should hear it from Peter.”

Bobby looked between Kitty and the bar. Something had happened to the atmosphere while he’d been distracted. Peter’s giddiness was muted, but that would have to do with being left alone with old man Logan. He moved to follow Kitty, Bobby pulled one way and Daken the other. 

“I am going to powder my nose.” He explained. Bobby thought that was well and good enough, he let him disappear into the crowd. Only when he was out of sight did Bobby remember where they were. In a place like this, it was not smart to lose sight of each other. He sighed. Daken would be alright, he was practically at home after all.

At the bar Logan had amassed an impressive collection, thimblefuls of different colors sat at the bottom of each glass. Other bartenders took care of the rest of the clientele so Peter could focus on the patched man with the deep pockets. It was a good way to disguise the conversation, but Logan had probably just wanted something to drink. Peter shook something in one of those metal thingies and poured a bright green martini for the man. 

“Shaken, not stirred?” Bobby joked, clapping Logan on the shoulder. Peter laughed, Logan ignored him. That’s alright, Bobby was used to tougher crowds. 

Kitty took the seat next to him. 

“Peter, can you tell Bobby what you told me?” 

His smile stayed in place but his eyes dimmed. He shrugged one shoulder casually and reached for a towel and a glass to occupy his hands. He whispered conspiratorially.  

“You don’t hear Keller’s name, really. I only picked up on the chatter because I knew what to look for. New White King, installed himself where it fits your timeline. He’s given this lot plenty to talk about.” He said. “Seems like he’s trying to rock the boat.”

“Rock the boat?” Bobby pressed.

“Yeah. The way I heard it he’s trying to rebuild the court. He’s ‘ _facilitating access to the court to people with the standing and abilities to maintain the club’s many agendas_ ’, but all that means is he’s handpicked them. Whoever he puts forward is sure to take over. You got two kinds of opinions on that, people who think Keller’s filling the seats with puppets or those of the mind he believes in the real balance the court is supposed to provide. 

He’s only made one thing clear though. This no-allegiance attitude the Clubs had with other mutants over the years is not gonna fly anymore. Most of the court has been mutants, the Club has already accepted them as leaders so it shouldn’t be such a hard pill to swallow, but he failed to mention the bit where they had no loyalty towards their genetic bros, for the most part… But for now, that means no funding goes towards Sentinels, mutant trafficking, or-- destroying the X-Men.”

Bobby faltered. A Club without an adamant hatred for the X-Men and an insatiable urge to destroy them for getting in their way? Surely that had to be a first.

“Apparently it’s not the first time this has happened. The late Black Rook and Lord Imperial had similar ideas. The Club already has enough of a following of pro-mutant rhetoric that Keller wasn’t beheaded on the spot. Some of them are Apocalypse nuts who want the mutants to step on them… so it’s not all sunshine and roses with that faction. Personally, I think your boy is trying to help. He gave some kind of big speech, that’s what got everyone talking in the first place.”

It made a bitter kind of sense. Hellion was a born orator if an incendiary one. He liked to talk big because he had big ideas. He was aiming to be leadership material, always front and center in the training grounds. He was a clever kid, but Bobby thought he liked being a meathead too much to get into the politics that came with their genetics. Being a mutant was to be divided into schools of thought. Professor X or Magneto. Peace or retribution. 

Even before Utopia Hellion was stamped to be an X-Man. So what changed? The students were divided into teams, mentored under different people. If Julian had been one of Scott’s maybe he would have stayed in the Mansion, a foot soldier in an army without leave, a proper Summers’ loyalist. He was Emma’s instead, cunning, flexible, willing to do “what must be done”, turning his back on the X-Men for their own good. Scott or Emma. That had been the wind of a butterfly’s wing, the ripple on the surface of a pond, and so much was different. 

“So where is he?” Bobby asked.

Peter looked down. “Dunno. Don’t think anyone else does either.” 

“That’s it? So what do we do?” Bobby grit his teeth. “We stop looking for him?”

“Never.” Kitty said firmly. “He’s our responsibility. He and the Club both. Just because they’re not looking to us does not mean we will not look to them. Julian is only a child, he could be in serious danger.”

Logan grunted, drawing their attention towards him. He looked over the rim of his glass and set it down hard on the table.

“Think he ain’t been a child for a long time. He wants to do shit his way? I say we let him, and when he fucks up and goes rotten, well, we stop him.” 

“Logan, you don’t mean that.” 

He sighed, licking the corner of his mouth to catch a drop of liquor. “No, I don’t, but I don’t think you would have understood it any other way. Julian Keller almost died, and he’s looking to change the climate that brought that about. How many can say it’s never happened to you? From what we can tell, it’s a change for the better. He could have come to us willingly and he didn’t. The club is all gums and no teeth right now. Let the boy be King. Enough X-Men have been.” 

Bobby bristled. Logan’s reasons were his own and he was under no obligation to agree with him. He and Kitty were of the same mind and her’s was the opinion that mattered. She made the choices here. Bobby looked to her for confirmation and got a resolute shake of her head. 

“We will continue looking for Julian. He is still out responsibility.”

“Ah, hell.” Logan said, calling for another drink. “Any mundane tidbits to bring a smile to these faces, Quill?”

Peter thought about that for a moment. He brought his index fingers up to his chest and circled his nipples obscenely. “I hear his new outfit makes Namor look like a prude.” 

Maybe it was the idea of Julian Keller running around in nothing but shoulder pads and leggings, or the stress of the evening becoming so much they needed some way to blow off steam, but the laugh they shared was long and heartfelt. In that precious moment, it all felt fittingly ridiculous. 

The universe caught them at peace and decided it was time to shake things up. 

Daken’s body crashed into the space beside Bobby looking like a hound out of hell. His elbows knocked over Logan’s glasses on the bar. Blood spattered beneath his nose and across his perfect white teeth. Claws drawn, chest heaving. Bobby followed his eyes in the direction he had come crashing from. He saw Bullseyes cards before he saw the man, three of them rushing towards Daken, fast, too fast--

Instinct took over. Bobby threw his upper body over Daken, pinning him between his chest and the bar just as the man moved to dodge. Bobby’s back puffed up with snow, catching each spade and slowing them before they could sink deeper. 

“Bobby?” Daken asked, bewildered. His claws retracted long enough to cup Bobby’s face, slapping his jaw lightly. “You ridiculous creature! I am faster than you are, certainly faster than Lester.” 

Bobby knew that, but he hadn’t been  _ thinking _ . The cards melted off his back, but Bobby turned to ice beneath Daken’s hands so they would not be caught by surprise with a second attack. “I saw it coming and I just--My body just moved!” 

Daken’s grin was blood, he sighed.  “Of course it did. My hero.”

Logan’s claws cut through his knuckles and he dropped from his seat with a snarl. “We got trouble!” 

Trouble came in the form of fire and cardstock. This time Bobby and Daken ducked and the cards exploded into the liquor shelves. 

“God damn it!” Peter shouted. He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a pulse gun, slapping a glowing magazine into it with the heel of his palm. “ _ That’s _ gonna come off my paycheck…” 

“I’ll get him!” Kitty sunk into the floor. 

Bobby readied to provide an assist should she be in need of one, but before he could pull back Daken clasped their hands together and warmed his knuckles on his chest. 

“One last dance tonight, snowflake?” He proposed. 

Bullseye screamed. Bobby’s head spun comically fast towards the sound. Kitty had one arm around his throat, choking the air out of his lungs while he tried desperately to shake her off. No chance there. Kitty was strong as a panther all dressed in black and twice as unlikely to let go of her prey. Bizarrely, Bobby and Bullseye made eye contact, and then the man was pointing straight in his direction.

“X-Men!” He yelled, successfully capturing the scrutiny of those unruffled by his demise in Kitty’s arms. “Daken brought the fucking X-Men here!” 

Uh-oh.

“Yes!” Bobby said, frantic in Daken’s steady grip. “One last dance, okay! You raise ‘em up, I’ll knock ‘em down. Let’s do this!” 

Somewhere, a record scratched, speakers blasted full force. 

Bobby, Daken, Kitty, Logan, and Peter. All well on their own, lethal as a team. He was surprised this could apply to Daken. He was to used to thinking of him like a lone wolf, but he was there at every turn, kicking enemies in Bobby’s direction so he could knock them onto their back, their knees, their faces.  Five against ten, twenty times as many. Bobby liked to play tricks in the Danger Room when he was young, toss all the available villains into the training ground at once. Angel wouldn't speak to him for weeks. It shouldn't have been so easy in real life, so, of course, Bobby bumped directly into Elektra Natchios. 

“Don't suppose you do time-outs…” He joked. 

Elektra’s sais moved hypnotically around her fimgers. She smirked. “Not today.” 

Bobby copied her weapons with the ice from his hands. He could not hope to be half as good as her, or half of a quarter of a third as good as her, but it was more about bluster than ability. 

“Come on!” He challenged. 

Before Elektra could strike, most certainly doing considerable harm even in his ice form, Kitty’s hand shot up from the tile and dragged her under, out of sight. 

“Oh, thank fuck!” Bobby cried and immediately dropped the fake sais. He was no coward, but he wasn't an idiot either. 

Daken was at his back one second and gone the next, striking at their enemies, marking his return with pressure against Bobby’s spine. Bobby would raise an ice wall and Daken would vault over it and onto the sitting ducks trapped inside. Bobby iced the floors and sent men and women skidding into Daken’s fists. Daken could ride his icepaths with surprising skill for one so inexperienced working alongside him. It felt right. It felt in  _ synch.  _ It was a shame not to take advantage of that. 

Elektra and Kitty resurfaced some way away, and even Kitty’s considerable hand-to-hand abilities could use an extra bit of help.

“Daken! Do you know what a Fastball Special is?”

“You name your maneuvers? Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Bobby gleamed, they held each other along the forearm to the curve of their elbows. “Just clench your ass and let me do the rest.”

“Clench my wha--”

Bobby flung him at Elektra. 

_ Flung _ him. Like a baseball. 

Daken drew his claws and prepared to strike the woman somewhere painful if non-lethal. He went over the heads of nobodies, Electro, Shocker, Diamondhead. He had a target. Time slowed down in that last stretch of air. Elektra’s eyes turned to him from beneath her dark lashes, moving too fast by comparison. Her glossy lips quirked to one side. In her smile, Daken read one word:  _ Fool.  _

She blinked out of existence. Daken went over the edge screaming.  

Was it any wonder the mutants were dying out if their battle strategies consisted of throwing their people directly at the enemy? Daken pondered as wind rushed around his ears. He was sure to break every bone in his body on impact. If his skull cracked open he might be incapacitated for some time. He trusted his body to crawl into a dark corner to recover in private. Bobby didn't have the stomach for gore. 

What a strange thought. So very… Considerate. Would he remember the sentiment after his brains spilled on the street below? 

The moon fractured on glassy wings, arms wrapped securely around his chest and spun him around until he was staring down at the street over Bobby’s shoulder. 

“Got you!” The Iceman laughed like he didn't quite believe it. His wings exploded into a thousand flakes and packed the ground in time to cushion their fall.

“I am so sorry! Oh my-- I am so sorry! You have no idea-- What was I thinking?! I threw you over a building!”

Bobby’s icy glamour turned to water on his fair skin. He laughed with an unencumbered glee, blood rushing through him like a train across the tracks. Relieved he had stopped his fall, deadly afraid of what almost had been, even if Daken could not die, even though they were not friends or even allies. Daken could smell it on him, lilies on swampwater. He felt as Psyche over Cupid, shining a light on the forbidden, nicking his thumb on an arrowhead. 

A flutter rioted in his chest, stole the air from his lungs, and shuddered in his throat with a violence. He refused to open his mouth to answer Bobby’s concerned inquiries, lest he spit out his heart on his hands.

_ Got you _ , he said.  _ Yes _ , Daken thought hard,  _ got _ him indeed. 


	6. Mister Hundred and One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny Storm hits up Bobby about getting some pizza bagels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones personal. 
> 
> Please enjoy the short chapter.

Daken was all clipped words and a quick retreat after that. Bobby couldn’t even ask him if he was okay. He practically ran from him when he reached to check if his ribs were tender. Disappeared into an alleyway before Bobby’s snow had finished melting. It was understandable. Bobby wouldn’t want to stick around a guy who threw him off a building either.

Bobby curled around his pillow. He was so stupid. 

He didn’t understand why he was moping. He should be happy he had given Daken a reason to run from him. The man was trouble. Dangerous and lethal. He had proven himself to be neither for Bobby and his family, but surely it was only a matter of time. 

That… wasn’t fair. Daken liked to tease, but he wasn’t cruel even when the door was wide open for it. He was kind to children, and only antagonized Bobby’s teammates in petty, passive-aggressive ways Bobby could see even himself doing. He hadn’t even yelled when Bobby  _ threw him off an actual fucking building _ . 

He hadn’t kissed him.

It was the first time Bobby acknowledged it. His face burned like a furnace. He could not curl up any tighter so instead he pressed his knuckles against his lips. Bobby closed his eyes and the memory slipped past his defenses and replayed without permission. In his mind’s eye he did not shake his head when Daken breathed against his lips. He tilted his chin up and let him close the distance between them. His body seized up with a crack of lightning.

Hey, hey.  _ Heyheyheyhey _ . None of that.  Bobby sat up and rubbed hard at his face. He didn't kiss Daken for a good reason. For the life of him he couldn't name that reason now, but it was real! Bobby picked up his phone from his nightstand and took to watching cute polar bear videos until everything else took a backseat. 

At all times Bobby had six active chats on his phone, twelve on a busy day. It was the closest thing to socializing he could do on his schedule, a flimsy excuse when all he was doing was playing on his phone for two hours but it usually held up to scrutiny. Johnny Storm was one such active chat but Bobby had seen him on the margin of enough gossip magazines at the pharmacy to know he was juggling both his social media and in-person life well enough. He got a notification from his fiery friend and paused the video to check it.

_ You up for some pizza bagels, broski? I can pick you up at the X-Mansion. If they even let you drive cars onto Central Park now. They let you all live there! You gotta get mail somehow. Anyway! Bagels, bruh? _

Okay, a little all over the place even for Johnny. Their meet ups were usually this spontaneous but hardly ever phrased like a question. Curious. He could do brunch right now, either way.

_ sure im down 4 bagels. theres a place nearby tht does carryouts so we wont have 2 sit in a stuffy cafe. I'll send u the address n meet u there.  _

Johnny got back to him faster than he expected.  _ You got it. See you in ten.  _

Bobby put the phone down and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. Guess he had to find some real clothes.

=

Ten minutes turned to thirty while Bobby waited outside the bagel place. Bobby let him know he was waiting, asked if he needed any more directions, and left him to it when he got no response back. Johnny was probably driving, or caught up in some mini-boss battle on the way. It was nice out with winter just coming in, he didn’t mind waiting half an hour while Johnny left him in radio silence. He ordered a caramel machiatto and waited on ordering the pizza bagels so they wouldn’t get cold if Johnny came any later. 

Five minutes and one Game of Thrones intro ringtone later, Johnny finally got back to him.

“Hey, Johnny--”

“I’m on the rooftop. I bought the bagels.” 

He hung up before Bobby could ask any questions. If the texts hadn’t worried him, that behavior surely had. It wasn’t unlike Johnny to be  _ rude  _ exactly, but it tended to do with his emotions getting the better of him. Bobby braced himself for the worst. He froze on his ice shoes and made his way up to the roof in a lazy spiral while sipping his macchiato. 

Johnny sat on the ledge with a cardboard box with the shop logo sitting next to him. He saw Bobby coming and waved amiably while Bobby melted down and filled the space next to him. He poked at the cardboard box with interest. It smelled good and it looked appropriately greasy. He flicked it open to find it completely empty. 

“Stress eating.” Johnny said sheepishly. 

“Alright, dude. What’s up?” Bobby frowned. 

“You mean what’s eating me? Har har. Bad joke.” 

“That didn’t even make any sense, but you’re clearly in a bad headspace right now so I’m gonna let it go.”

They laughed and fell into a more comfortable silence. Bobby put his foot down, they weren’t leaving this rooftop without having the conversation Johnny clearly needed to have, but he could give the Torch a moment to get his bearings. It could be any number of things. Two of the Four were missing, lost almost at the same time Scott died. Bobby could relate to dwindling family, it happened to him every other month. 

Johnny stared down at the street between his swinging feet. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the ledge and stopped. 

“Bobby, I’m bi.” 

Oh. Bobby blinked. He could relate to that. 

He came out to Johnny over text. He was already exhausted from the face-to-face thing he had to do with his closest friends. It seemed apt to tell Johnny over the phone. They had partied a couple times and the guy didn’t really seem to  _ care  _ about anyone else’s business. There were the rumors about him, too. Johnny wasn’t a bigot, what difference did it make to send him a few lines and get it over with? 

It would have made a difference. Bobby could have looked at him like he was looking at him now and realized Johnny didn’t know there were rumors. He didn’t realize nobody who mattered looked at him any differently. He would have gathered from a twitch, a gesture, that Johnny was more likely to lose his nerve, leave him waiting an hour, and eat two pizza bagels to stall for more time rather than tell anyone, even a gay friend just recently out of the closet, that he liked men.

And he was so scared. 

“Oh, Johnny.” Bobby sighed. “Johnny, thank you.” 

“Thank you?” Johnny frowned and straightened up. 

Bobby pushed the cardboard box out of the way. He grabbed Johnny’s bicep and tugged him close to wrap his arms around his shoulders. He felt Johnny’s shock move through him as his entire body tensed like bowstring, ready to snap. He breathed hard once against Bobby’s neck, shuddered and went limp. 

Bobby thought about every response he’d gotten to coming out.  _ We knew _ ,  _ Bobby. It’s not a big deal. Times are different now. Things have changed. There’s plenty of others like you.  _ All the attempts at being understanding that just came off as fucking  _ dismissive  _ because Bobby had  _ hid  _ all that time because he took one good look around and figured if there were no people like him, then he must be abnormal. He wasn't being stupid, his fears were not irrational. The world was still a dangerous, unwelcoming place where people as undoubtedly powerful as Johnny Storm could still fear prejudice. 

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” Bobby said, because he had no right to say  _ Johnny, I knew,  _ because those weren’t Johnny’s terms. He did as friends do and held Johnny while he shook.

= 

Flying helped them both clear their heads. What Bobby did wasn’t flying exactly, as Johnny didn’t hesitate to inform him once he was feeling a little more cheerful, but it got them both closer to the clouds and that was enough for now. It was hard to speak through the roar of Johnny’s flames, so Bobby widened his ice path and let the blonde man touch down and glide with him. 

“I actually came to talk to you about something else.” Johnny clarified as they sat cross legged on the ice. “But I thought the context was necessary and… well. I guess I’ve been wanting to tell someone for a while as well.” 

Bobby nodded. “Alright. We got through that conversation, so this should be easier, right?”

“Not for you.” Johnny teased in a sing-song voice. “I hear you’re seeing Daken now.”

He sputtered. The ice path dipped down and back up so sharply it knocked Johnny onto his side. The man found that hilarious and he steadied himself with a hand on Bobby’s shoulder while he got upright again. 

“Yeah, that’s the closest thing to the answer I was looking for.” 

“It’s  _ not  _ what you think.” Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Bobby, I’ve been on your end with him, alright? So I get it. You don’t have to be embarrassed with me. Whatever it is or isn’t, you’ve considered the offers he has  _ most certainly  _ put out for you.” 

“I-- Well. Yeah. Maybe.” 

Bobby had gone through general anesthesia to get his wisdom teeth out, but he assumed going without was less painful than admitting he had considered taking Daken up on one of his invitations. Daken was a walking fantasy all too happy to fulfil itself and Bobby was a simple, red-blooded American male. 

“Step one is admitting you wouldn’t kick him out of bed. You got through it like I was holding a knife to your throat, so I don’t know how well you’ll do in this next part…” 

“Fuck, Johnny, what now?”

“Have you thought about anything more serious? Anything romantic?” 

“Did you?” He deflected.

Johnny pursed his lips. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of him now that he’d gone on the defensive. It was at least encouraging that Bobby hadn’t dismissed the idea of Daken and  _ romantic  _ on the same sentence as being utterly ridiculous, if not impossible. 

“A lot of people think Daken’s not capable of more than being a manipulative fuck, and I am not saying he _isn’t_ one, but there’s more to him.” Johnny explained. “We weren’t a thing for very long, and it happened right after a pretty difficult period of his life so I can’t speak for everyone who’s been involved with him, but he was very kind. He made me laugh. He’s been the only guy to stand in a room with the Fantastic Four and look at _me_ like I am the most interesting thing there. 

He made me feel special and unique. Even attractive, if you can believe it. I am nothing to sneeze at, I got the bone structure of Chris Evans, but in a world where I watched him flirt with everyone it still felt like he wanted  _ me _ , for real.”

Johnny fiddled with his hands. “Then he disappeared. There were easier ways to do what he did, but he chose the avenue that would have left me behind. I would have done anything for him, lied to anyone for him, and he still cut me out. He disappoints you on purpose. He doesn’t try for things to be the same when he comes back, because he more readily accepts the things he does  _ wrong  _ than anything he might ever do right. 

I have no delusions about who he is. I never got the details about his childhood or his life before Osborn’s Avengers or anything like that, but I am not an idiot. He’s done terrible things, but Bobby, he takes the opportunity to do  _ good  _ whenever he’s given it. He just needs to realize that goodness is more than an interesting diversion he can play at and consider nice while it lasted. 

Losing his father changed him, losing his healing factor changed him, Laura changed him, but he’s still damaged goods. You are under no obligation to fix him, or even deal with his emotional baggage, but if you’re thinking of giving him a chance… I think you should. He can help himself, he just needs a vote of confidence.” 

A vote of confidence. Did Bobby have the strength to take that chance? He had enough experience to recognize a toxic relationship, and enough reservations about Daken to keep his guard up. That wasn't any way to give someone a vote of confidence. It would protect Bobby, sure, but at the cost of trust between them. Trust had to come first, and whatever else followed should flow in naturally. 

Did he want something to follow? 

“Daken makes me feel special too.” Bobby whispered. “He's exciting. He makes me want to try new stuff, but not shit I know I would never do. He drags me places, but only because I let him. I want… I am not sure what I want.”

“The fact you want something is good enough not to give him the boot entirely, yeah? I am not telling you to marry the guy, just hear him out if it comes to it.” 

Bobby nodded. It was easy to get carried away when talking in terms of what-if. Daken and him were friends with underlying, unresolved tensions. He had plenty of those friends. If it was to go any further, it would come at its own pace. That was more comforting than it had any right to be. He sighed and felt a hint more at ease. 

“Besides, it's not all drama with him. He does make life easier. Like how you don't need to wear any condoms because he--”

Bobby coughed so hard he choked on his own spit. “Jonathan Storm!” 

“And if he asks you to do yoga, it's a trap, but it's a  _ nice  _ trap. We're well trained and I  _ still  _ don't think my body is supposed to bend like that--” 

“Stop!” 

Johnny lets out a burst of laughter and then stops dryly. His smile dims to a quiet, distant sadness as he looks down on his lap.

“I've never had the chance to talk to anyone about this.” 

Oh… Of course he hasn't. Bobby is probably the first soul he's ever told. He sighs and nudges him playfully with his shoulder. 

“Alright. Don't get like that. Tell me all about his back muscles or whatever.”

Johnny knows a thing or two about traps, because he lights up like it’s the response he expected and immediately goes off on a tangent. 

“His  _ back,  _ Bobby. There’s no fucking give on those muscles. You dig your fingers in and... It's all firm. Bobby! Are you listening? No give!” 

Bobby lied back with his hands cupped at the nape of his neck and pretended he wasn't flushed red at the face. 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm listening.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think i love hearing it


	7. Who Run the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby meets Laura under unexpected circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura chapter!! This one felt right for me at first, but the more I wrote the less I understood what I was doing... I hope it isn't too incoherent. You know how I get when I am trying to be clever...

_ Monday _

Bobby ate before meeting Daken for dinner because experience had taught him the wording of the invitation was a formality and no food would actually come from it. One of their Twitter threads about the best taco trucks had ended abruptly with Daken DMing him an address and a pot of honey emoji. Daken had gotten better at speaking Bobby’s garbled text language. The apartment building was within walking distance and Bobby found it easily enough. There were a couple shops across the street and food places that looked appetizing even to Bobby’s full stomach. He could order dessert…

He found Daken leaning back against the wall with one foot on the staircase. He nodded his head up and went without waiting for Bobby’s response. Bobby waved the restaurants a mournful goodbye and followed suit.

“Do you have an apartment here? Or do you just own the building again?” Bobby wondered out loud.

“You’ll see.” Daken’s unhelpful response.

They kept climbing up the stairs, ignoring every floor and every elevator on it. Bobby counted six. He abstained from drawing attention to them as not to ruin Daken’s clear-cut sense of drama and build up. He had a knack for creating an atmosphere. The lights began flickering on the seventh floor and the stairs ended on a locked door. Bobby had to guess he and Daken were getting along better if he hadn’t even considered Daken brought him somewhere to kill him, until now.

“Well, I guess we’re gonna have to turn around.”

Daken stuck his claws through the door and ripped out the lock.

“Or we could do that.” He amended. Daken was uncharacteristically quiet. His clawed friend gave him that funny little smile of his and opened what was left of the door, stepping aside to let Bobby in.

The door opened into the roof. An aggravating brush of cool wind ruffled his hair in an unwelcome endeavor to appease him. Okay. Attempted murder was a possibility after all. He jumped when Daken’s shoulder bumped him. Bobby stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched over like a child. The roof hadn’t made him this nervous when he was out with Johnny, so the knot in his throat had to do with Daken.

Was the other man looking for an apology? Bobby had given it at least three times in person and maybe twelve over text. Every other joke about kicking Daken’s ass fell flat when he used it as a foundation to apologize for throwing him over a roof. Bobby was sensitive about these things, “things” being a codeword for almost turning Daken into asphalt paste. Bobby fell a few feet behind as Daken walked forward.

“What are we doing up here?” He asked anxiously.

“You’ll see.” Daken repeated.

He jumped up on the ledge and the knot in Bobby’s throat turned to lead. He smiled over his shoulder, the wind caught on his unruly bun and brushed his hair away from his face. Bobby took an involuntary step forward. As if on cue Daken spun on the tip of his shoes and leaned back until his heels teetered over the edge.

Bobby was up on the ledge before he realized what was happening. His hands tangled with Daken’s Letterman jacket in excessive fistfuls of fabric. Bobby let out a harsh sound through his nose. He knew he was holding all of the man’s considerable weight as Daken rested on nothing except the curve of his feet.

“Are you insane?! Are you legitimately a crazy person?!” Bobby didn’t mean to yell, but it came out like it anyway. He was trapped between shaking some sense into Daken and terrified of moving an inch.

“Is your heart beating? I can’t feel it under the ice.” Daken asked, breathless with glee.

Bobby looked down. It wasn’t quite his colossus shape, but it had all the spikes and thickness that did not usually adorn his first form of choice. His body had frozen without his say, he was bigger than he had been a second ago, and right there, over the smooth, icy planes of his chest, Daken’s hand rested over his ribcage. Bobby shook his head like he was trying to jolt a thought out his ears.

“You could have–”

“But I didn’t. My god. You are terrified, aren’t you?”

“What are you  _ doing _ , Daken?”

“You threw me over a roof, Bobby.” He laughed. The stillness that came over Bobby had nothing to do with the ice covering his body. “But it was an accident. I am not surprised you’re beating yourself over something so silly. You X-Men and your martyrdom.”

“It’s not silly.” He grit out.

“No.” Daken agreed. He balanced forward on his feet and used the momentum to tug back hard on Bobby’s grip. Bobby did not budge an inch, he lifted Daken by the front of his jacket and dragged him back onto solid ground. He began to melt almost as soon as they touched the floor, but Daken’s fingers fastened around his wrists before he pulled away.

“Bobby! I am trying to say I trust you to catch me.”

Time stopped for Bobby. The only movement came from Daken’s eyes flickering around his face, trying to find something and coming out blank. The man’s fingers flexed restlessly over Bobby’s wrists.

“I needed to know we weren’t going to spend the rest of our lives avoiding rooftops, Bobby.” 

_ Trusted him _ ? Maybe Daken  _ was  _ crazy. Or dying. Dying from craziness. It didn’t sound like him at all. Trust was a vulnerable state and Daken was anything but. It had to be difficult for him to admit, _ or there had to be something in it for him _ .  _ No,  _ said a voice surprisingly similar to Johnny’s in Bobby’s head. Daken was manipulative, but right now he had no reason to be. Right now, he was being sincere. For Bobby’s sake alone. 

“That’s gonna stop working someday if you overdo it, D.”

It was Daken’s turn to pause. He cocked his head to the side comically, ever the curious cat. “What?”

“Trying to jostle me out of my head by saying my name over and over again. It’s a neat trick, but it will get old quick.” Bobby smiled. He put his hands on Daken’s shoulders and Daken’s fingers slid down to his elbows.  “I get it, alright. You’re not made of glass. You’re not going to magically clip through the ground and fall to your squishy, squishy death because of me. I’ll stop freaking out about throwing you off a roof again if you never try to do it to yourself. Deal?”

Bobby thought his laughter sounded relieved. Daken mirrored his smile. “Deal, snowflake.”

Bobby patted his shoulders and then shook Daken off with a few childish smacks. He rubbed his elbows like the other man’s touch lingered on the skin like sand. “There, enough dramatic male bonding. Let’s get off this fucking roof.”

His companion arched an eyebrow but walked shoulder to shoulder when Bobby made a beeline for the exit. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

“Yep.” Bobby said with a satisfying pop of his lips on the word. “If I left it up to you we would come out of here engaged, Mr.  _ Thinking in Terms of how we’ll “Spend the Rest of our Lives” _ .”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re referring to.”

“Sure you don’t. Come on, let’s go look for a taco truck. You got me craving something.”

=

_ Wednesday  _

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this.”

“Relax. Let the lady do her job.” 

The lady in question applied some gummy green gel along his calf. It felt pleasantly hot against his skin but he was not so simply tricked into a sense of comfort. She had coated the space between and around his eyebrows in much smaller amounts of the viscous slime and it had hurt like hammering nails into the soles of his feet. Even her cool hands did not soothe away the sting. Bobby leaned his head against the chair and gripped the red cushioned armrests. He breathed through his mouth like he was giving birth. 

Beside him, Daken cradled his chin and a smile over the heel of his hand. Shirtless, trapped in skintight shorts that revealed a few uncomfortable truths. He was at home among the beaded curtains at his back and the lantern-lit mahogany furniture. Daken’s friend (as he’d introduced her) owned the parlor, a stern old woman with a stiff up-do that smiled only when Daken flirted with her as if she were a girl in her twenties. Bobby knew he loved her when she took one long look at him and decided he was too skinny and needed danishes and green tea in his belly while they waited for their appointment. Bobby was there on Daken’s wallet and he felt bad for not giving anything back to the warm establishment. He insisted on buying something from the small shop set up in the corner of the lobby and picked out what looked like a red baggie tied to a string embroidered in an eye-catching pattern.

“ _ Omamori _ ,” Daken explained with a smile that actually reached his eyes. He examined the charm and drew attention to some of the details in the needlework with the tip of his nail. “A good luck charm for love. You have an excellent honing device for cheesiness, don’t you?” 

Bobby shrugged, snipping the charm back. “Hey, I’ll take all the help I can get.” 

“Unfortunately, that particular charm works at a slow burn. It might be some time before you see its effect.”

“I want a slow burn. I’ve never done the lovey-dovey courtship stuff before. It sounds like fun. Bobby Drake is handing himself over to the universe. Make it happen.”

He paid for the charm and pocketed it in his jacket where it was safe. If this was the start of his own Nicholas Spark style novel, it was already a good one. 

As for his current predicament… Daken had gone first to convince Bobby it was a painless process. The glop went over his chest, arms, legs, and more intimate places Bobby had been too conveniently occupied elsewhere to look at. He didn’t flinch as it was pulled off him in large strips or when gloved hands rubbed down his irritated skin. He was red as a farmer’s tan but no worse for wear.  _ See?  _ He’d said with a smile that was surely responsible for blinding Bobby’s good sense.  _ It’s easy.  _ He invited Bobby to touch his freshly waxed chest, right over the tattoo. Bobby put his hand on the ink without thinking and Daken’s pec bounced obnoxiously, like a frat boy trying to show off. Bobby slapped his arm where it was reddest and tried not to feel bad when the other man let out a hiss. That should have been a dead giveaway. 

The wax cooled and he wasn’t ready. Nowhere  _ near  _ the realm of prepared for this. It didn’t help that they had an audience of infinitely giggly salon specialists who thought Bobby’s behavior was equal parts charming and hilarious. 

“Fuck! I can’t. I am gonna die.” 

The woman pat the side of his leg that wasn’t covered in glossy green wax and calmed him with a series of gentle strokes. If Bobby stayed so tense he was going to give himself hairline fractures. Her fingers framed the edges of the wax and she pulled just enough to get a grip on the sheet. 

“We’ll do it on three. Go ahead, look at the pretty boy. Everyone else does.” 

Bobby accommodated her suggestion in hopes it inspired a gentler touch. He kept his eyes on Daken, even as he shifted and posed his body in a deliberately enticing manner, cocking his head smugly. 

“You  _ are  _ unfairly pretty.” He said. 

“I know.” Daken answered without a hint of modesty. 

Bobby reached over and made a grabby motion with his hand. If he was going to do this, he was going to make sure Daken felt his pain. He broke the  _ Rokeby Venus _ posture to clap their fingers together and gave Bobby an amused squeeze. 

“On three.” She repeated. 

She went on one like Bobby expected her to and he screamed like puberty come anew regardless. Daken bore the punishing crunch of his fingers with a grin. He shook Bobby’s hand lightly.

“You shave for your X-suits. It’s the same thing. It wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”

It was exactly that bad. Bobby didn’t scream after the first strip, but he did bite his tongue more than once. He adamantly refused to release Daken’s hand, not that he made any move to remove it. His eyes stung and his legs itched by the time it was over. He jumped out of his chair when the smiling woman slapped his knee playfully to the delight of the other attendees in the room. 

“Northstar said people would try to get me to do trendy stuff like this with them now that I’m out. I thought I was ready, I was not ready.” He moaned. 

“I don’t wax because I like men, Bobby. I wax because my father is an unwashed Canadian troglodyte and I am not eager to follow his lead.” Daken stood up. He snatched one of the wooden sticks the young woman had been using to spread the wax and dipped it into the hot green vat. He brandished the stick like a weapon. “Now come here and let me do your happy trail.” 

Bobby slapped his hand over the hair around his navel protectively. He let out an undignified squeal as Daken jumped over Bobby’s now empty chair and chased him straight through a beaded curtain. 

=

_ Friday  _

“How about Sunday?” 

Bobby popped his gum and chewed thoughtfully through the question. He downed three zombies and turned his head when Daken tried to stuff a mini pizza bagel in his mouth. Gross! He already had gum in there! Daken rubbed grease onto his cheek before Bobby slapped the bagel out of his hand and into the darkness of the arcade. He grabbed an excessive amount of napkins from their plate and wiped hard at his cheek. He was never exfoliating again in his long, gay life, but he wanted the one-off instance to last. His character died on screen. He was tired of zombies anyway. He set the plastic gun down and bumped his hip against the machine. 

“Can’t do Sunday. I’m going to a museum.” 

Daken feigned hurt with a hand over his chest. “Am I not invited to this museum?” 

“It’s a school field trip. You would hate it.”

Daken hummed and finished the last of a quesadilla. He washed it down with the disgusting brown liquid calling itself Dr. Pepper in his plastic cup. Bobby made a face and stuffed the remaining napkins in his direction. 

“We’ve had fun these past two months, haven’t we, Bobby? Running after children, fighting criminals who act as children...” Daken trailed off. 

Had it really been two months? How time flies when you’re trying desperately not to develop a fondness for an infuriating man. Bobby waved him off and stuck another quarter in the machine to get it started again. 

“It won’t be any fun. I promise. Rain check?” 

He got a number of amusing beeping noises and zombie screams out of the machine before he realized Daken hadn’t replied. Bobby continued to shoot blindly at the screen while looking over his shoulder.

“Did you hear me, D?”

Daken looked up from fiddling with his phone. “Hm? Oh, yes. Rain check. Understood.” 

=

Bobby loved being a teacher and he liked to think he was a damn good one too. He made  _ accounting  _ likable. It was a stressful job with long-term consequences, but he got it done 4 hours a day, 20 hours a week, without counting the time spent grading papers and meeting individually with students. It wasn’t a job you did if you didn’t love it. Shaping the impressionable little minds of the next generation through body-numbing math had its appeal. Yes, Bobby liked being a teacher, it was exactly as rewarding as everyone promised it was, but if there was something Bobby didn’t like it was being a  _ chaperone.  _

He had sprouted a couple grey hairs on the bus ride alone. Hormonal, superpowered teens in enclosed quarters running on fumes leftover by Gatorade and Red Bull and whatever other garbage they managed to chug down before climbing aboard were as dangerous as your average rogue. He wasn’t any good at wrestling order into place, some part of him even wanted to join in on the hair pulling and the he-said, she-said of highschool level gossip, and most of all he just wanted the day to be over. Ororo, Betsy, and Kurt were playing chaperone along with him and they kept them all out of chaos. 

On Saturday night Daken had offered to kidnap him so he had an excuse to ditch and Bobby actually  _ considered  _ it. Daken was sure to make it believable and Bobby would be home-free, but… It put him in bad standing with Kitty again, and she had only just recently stopped looking at him with pursed lips when he brought up the estranged Wolverine. He’d been seeing more of the man both online and in person. Their meetings came with little excuses on both their parts. Daken wanted to mend their one-off, near-death experience on a rooftop and it ended with both men combing the streets of New York looking for an elusive taco truck. He needed assistance from a powered pal on a stakeout at his favorite salon. The nearby arcade had shown signs of being taken over by that one villain of the same name that Daken cared about for some reason. _ Excuses.  _ Bobby knew them for what they were. 

They wanted to see each other. Both of them. Bobby just hadn’t gotten around to making the first move yet. 

His talk with Johnny gave him a lot to think about. The kids were released into groups of their own making and given free rein of the premises. Bobby still had to keep an eye on them from a respectful distance, but at least he had a measure of silence to mull over everything… He didn’t particularly want to.

There were much more pleasant things and infinitely less frustrating things to think about. Science museums were Bobby’s favorite thing as a kid. He needed those interactive exhibits to hold his attention. The sculptures of animals were on the side of off-putting with their dead, beady eyes, but he was fine so long as he didn’t look directly at them. He paused at a group of wolves gathered in a circle. One of the wolves licked at the pup between their front legs. 

“Oh! Wolves! Do they have anything like Jonathan, Laura?”

A young girl appeared out the corner of his eye. She leaned right over the edge of the display without a care in the world and reached out to touch as if it hadn’t occurred to her it wasn’t allowed. Bobby had to laugh. He didn’t recognize her as one of his students, she was too young, for one, but he most definitely  _ did  _ recognize Laura Kinney as she came to collect her with her arms around her smaller body. His heart choked him with a skipped beat then began vigorously pounding for no good reason. 

“Laura!” He greeted her before his silence became awkward. “Hey. Are you here for the school trip?”

She returned the pleasantry with an incline of her head. “Yes. I heard about it and called the school in hopes Gabby wanted to attend.”

“This is Gabby, then?” Bobby smiled at the girl. She brightened as he acknowledged her and bounced on her feet. Laura’s arms hugged her around the shoulders and kept her from shooting off in every direction. 

“Gabrielle, at your service.” She gave Bobby’s hand energetically and turned her head up. “Look, Laura! It’s Daken’s special friend.”

Bobby’s throat dried and his hand went limp in the shake. He opened his mouth and made noises that were not words yet somehow stuttered. Gabby looked back at him and her scarred cheek pinched as she winked. 

“It worked! Just messing with you, Bobby. Bad cop all done. I’m gonna go over there now.” She pat Laura’s arms until the taller Kinney released from her hold and skipped towards Jubilee’s bunch. Bobby stared after her, struggling to understand what had just transpired. 

“Bad cop?” He asked Laura. 

“I told her I was going to speak to you about something important. She wanted to help.” 

“You came here… for me?”

“Not quite.” Laura took a step towards the cafeteria. “Will you join me?” 

He didn’t have a reason not to. Trevor was in his group and no danger was likely to get past him. It was nearing lunch time and most of the students were sure to join them soon. He let Laura escort him to a table. He did not anticipate what Laura was here to say so he didn’t know if he should be scared. He was scared anyway. Gabby had done a wonderful job of terrifying him, bless her heart. 

Bobby laced his fingers together and played with his thumbs. “You wanted to talk?” 

“Yes, I--” Hesitation was strange on Laura’s face. Her brow furrowed uncomfortably. “I’ve had some time to think about what I would say, but I am no closer to a coherent sentence than I was when I begun.” 

Her confusion was reassuring at least. If she had come at him with the sort of self-assured Talk (with a capital T) he expected from the sister of a man he was maybe-sorta-notreally seeing on the side, Bobby might have bailed on the entire field trip, responsibilities be damned. Daken and he had broken ground on something new he wasn’t willing to define. He needed that vagueness, the uncertainty of potential and possibility. To name it was to make it real, and once it was real it had consequences. 

He gave Laura a tiny smile. “Do you mind if I go first?” 

He snickered when Laura tilted her head curiously in the same manner he had come to expect from Daken. There was no doubt they were brother and sister at heart. Bobby bit his lip and grasped for the right words to express what he’d been feeling for a while now.

“Before I embarrass myself… This about Daken?”

“It is.” 

“Alright… Thanks for clarifying, haha. Sorry. This is. Weird to me. New, kinda. I don’t think I’ve ever cared about the stuff coming out of my mouth. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, y’know? Having moments. Enlightenment… You get that. Sorry. Rambling. Your brother.” Bobby breathed through his mouth. “Daken and I are friends. I can see that now. It’s bizarre how easy it was for it to come to that. Daken is an  _ asshole _ , but he’s my kind of asshole. I’m not scared of him, I am not trying to fix him or ruin him or anything ridiculous like that. I am not sure what you’ve heard, or why you’re here exactly, but I want you to know that whatever I feel for your brother it is not… negative. Does that make sense?”

Laura held herself in such a way it was clear she was listening for something. When she relaxed it was with a sigh of relief. Whatever difficulty she was having with the order of her words had come undone as Bobby broke the ice. 

“I’ve been worried about Daken for a long time. He hasn’t been himself since Logan-- Since our father died. Losing his healing factor took a toll. Frailty was new for him and it clashed with his personality.” Bobby committed a sound of agreement and Laura’s lips quirked to the side before continuing in a sterner voice. “He was angry at everything and everyone. He was convinced there was nothing to him except his rage. I didn’t discourage it soon enough because I thought his rage was the only thing keeping him alive. 

He made a choice to live for something else. Me, then Gabby. Daken is continuously fighting a self-image bred from years of abuse, but he’s capable of making  _ choices _ . Judge him on those choices so he knows they matter. It’s the most anyone can ask for.”

Laura’s intense eyes finally looked down at the table to offer Bobby some respite. Blue-green, nothing like Daken’s and still the same. “Being your friend is good for him, but if you should choose to part ways I will be there for him. You need never feel responsible or stuck. We are Wolverines and we are good at what we do, and what we do is stick together.” 

Daken and Laura had the bindings of blood but were, by all means, a found family, the kind the X-Men fought and stood for. Bobby had known her when she was quiet and standoffish, unsure of social norms and uncomfortable in most situations that did not require dissection via her claws. He saw nothing of that girl in her now, not in the way she held Gabby and spoke about her brother. 

“You’re a wonderful person, you know that?” He was compelled to say. When she smiled it was the spitting image of Gabby’s dimpled cheeks. 

“I know that I am capable of good. Daken will too.” 

“I’ll drink to that. Or eat, rather. How does a parfait sound? My treat.”

Gabby launched herself across their table and slapped her hands down before Bobby, startling them both. 

“It sounds delicious! May I have one too?” 

“Of course.” Bobby agreed automatically. “Where would I be without my bad cop, hm?” 

She raised her hands and finger-gunned in his direction. “I like you, Mr. Iceman. We should be friends.” 

“And I like you, Ms. Tiny Wolverine. I would love to be friends.”

They shook on it to make it a done deal.

=

Laura and Gabby bid Bobby goodbye after they were done with lunch. He wasn’t the primary purpose of their visit, after all, and there was so much Gabby needed to see. He wished her luck on her quest to locate the fated “Jonathan” exhibit she was so excited about. 

Quentin & Qrew, the most problematic squad named by Bobby himself, had yet to set the museum on fire even with Bobby’s lax supervision of their activities. They were suspiciously quiet when they spotted Bobby trailing them down the hall, but it made him feel old rather than wary of what they were up to. He wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the lull between near-death experiences, as he’d stopped seeing Ororo and Betsy some time ago. 

Maybe they’d somehow unearthed a bar in a science museum and decided not to tell Bobby about it to spite him. A drink sounded nice right then. Laura and Gabby were charming girls but Bobby had had more touchy-feely conversations about his  _ emotions _ in the past six months than he could deal with entirely sober. Only 4% of those were conversations about Daken. He predicted that number was on the rise exponentially. 

Bobby edged away from the students like a lost sheep. Drinking on the job was generally frowned upon, so the only alcohol he was having stayed in his fantasies. 

Now that he looked back on it he realized something had been off about his conversation with Laura. They were weirdly on the same page when it came to Bobby’s relationship with Daken. It was easy to assume Daken had  _ told _ her about them, but that took for granted that Daken knew how Bobby felt. That possibility chilled him. 

It was times he put some needed words to the nebulous Daken-shaped emotion floating aimlessly as stardust in his chest. He had a few scattered sentences down already (courtesy of Johnny, please provide proper MLM citation). Daken had a killer sense of humor, unique quirks, and was surprisingly thoughtful. It contradicted the holier-than-thou, self-centered persona Bobby was presented at first glance. He was trying to do his part by solving the problems he stumbled into, even if he wasn’t an X-Man styled hero actively seeking wrinkles to iron out. How had he described Bobby’s thought process? Effortless. Daken had a dexterity for super-powered problem solving that only came from those born for it. 

But he wasn’t the 9-to-5 dream guy with a willingness to share his Netflix password and a clean record. The pristine ken doll, a sentient vanilla sponge cake catering to his every taste. Bobby’s relationships had all been imperfect for a very good reason. That was out of the way, what excuse did he have to fuck a relationship up now when all eyes were on him?

His throat tightened uncomfortably. It hurt to swallow. He ignored the sharp tickling in his nose and the burn in his eyes and pretended he needed something to drink. He had seen a water fountain earlier in the hall, and he retraced his steps to find it. It took him into an empty, featureless corridor marked only by bathroom signs. The quiet drag of his feet on the tile was nearly enough to muffle the sounds of voices. 

“This is neither the time nor the place. I understand that. I am not asking you for an answer now, Betsy.” 

Bobby was drawn to the sound of Ororo’s voice at the end of the hall. Betsy and she stood across each other with scant inches between them. He walked at his own leisure, both to say hello and to reach the water fountain behind them. Neither woman noticed him and he was content not to draw their attention yet. 

“Ororo… It’s been years. We can’t just continue where we left off. You had Logan and I--” 

“Logan has been dead for a long time.” Ororo said gently. She took Betsy’s hand on her own. Bobby felt increasingly like he was encroaching on a private moment but it was too late to stop. “I’ve processed my grief and I will always hold him close to my heart. As I held you, as I would hold you again. We have both changed. The time is right. You need only leap.”

Betsy looked down at her hands and after a beat she laced their fingers together with a squeeze. “What if I haven’t changed for the better, Ororo?” 

“You  _ are  _ better, and I love every part of you.”

They kissed.

Bobby took the world’s sharpest right turn and plastered himself against the wall.

Expletives! He couldn’t pin down any of them at the moment but was feeling all of them at once. He couldn’t make himself small enough. There was not enough corner or shadow to hide in. The blood in his ears ran so hot he couldn’t hear the rest of Storm and Psylocke’s hushed conversation. He knew it was over when Betsy walked straight past him and he  _ knew  _ she was only pretending not to notice him. 

The slow, painful clicks of Ororo’s heels were seconds apart as she approached his hiding spot. She was giving him a chance to escape, but the bottom of Bobby’s shoes had turned to lead. He wasn’t going anywhere. The shoes finally paused beside him and Bobby looked up with a wince.

Ororo smiled. “Hello, Bobby.”

“Hi, ‘Ro.” He countered instantly. 

When she took a spot on the wall next to him it was after careful consideration. She folded her hands over her lap. 

“I assume I do not have to ask you to be discreet about this?”

“What?” Bobby stammered. “No, no. Definitely not. Womb to tomb, Ororo you know me.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Nothing so clandestine as that, Bobby. I simply want Betsy to have time to think about us in a private setting. Don’t worry. We trust you. Now… Is there something you want to ask me?”

Was there?

Advice from Ororo was not a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but it always felt like one. She was their blessed, bright lady. If Jean was the heart of the X-Men then Ororo was their free will. If he was going to ask anyone…

Logan was far from perfect and he had been one of Ororo’s greatest loves. Betsy was a phenomenal woman with all the complexities requisite of a colorful life. If anyone would understand what Bobby was feeling, it would be her.

“How do you know someone’s right for you, Ororo? How do you know they’re… Perfect?”

Ororo gathered him up in her arms and pressed her cheek to his temple. She smelled like jasmine, rain, and forgetting his troubles. The hug came prior to the answer because Bobby was in far more need of it. Ororo made space between them but did not release his shoulders. 

“Your definition of perfect is the only one that matters, Bobby. The heart does not play by any set of rules, and the mind knows how best to satisfy it painlessly.” She cupped his cheek and flicked her thumb over the flushed skin playfully. “What are you really asking for, Bobby? I think it’s permission to give voice to an answer you already have. Enough validation to see it through. Only you can provide both.” 

She was right. Damn it all, she was right. Bobby already knew the answer to his own stupid question. All the self-help books and the cheesy hipster motivational posters got it right for once. The only right answer was to be himself and do as he wanted. He wasn’t a spectacle for the populace. The  _ perfect choice  _ was whichever one he damn well liked. He didn’t owe anyone anything. 

“I like to laugh.” He mumbled nonsensically to Ororo. “I want someone who makes me laugh.”

Ororo blinked and her eyes were wet, not with pity but with understanding. “Oh, Bobby. I hope he makes you laugh.” 

He buried his face in her chest and let her do the same in his hair. Ororo was seasoned in the ins and outs of love in ways he could only aspire to be. If things were still left unspoken between her and Betsy after all this time and all her experience, then surely his own emotional turbulence was reasonable.

One of the many locks over his heart rusted over and cracked, battered by the elements. It released some of the pressure in his chest. Bobby found it easier to breathe, to laugh.

“I hope so too.” 


	8. Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the happy ending.

A 9:00am class meant Bobby had to be in bed at midnight on the dot if he wanted to be well rested. It was 2:15am and a good night’s sleep was looking increasingly unlikely. He tried everything: one pillow, two pillows, no pillow. Sleeping on his side, sleeping on his back, sleeping on his stomach. He burned his eyes out on his phone and locked it away in the nightstand to equal effect. Blanket on it was too hot, blanket off it was too cold. Temperature was a non-issue for him, he realized it was just his head playing tricks on him.

It should be too occupied for games. There was a lot on his mind. It had nothing to do with his students or the return trip from the museum. Exhausted as they had been they were pleasant company. He shared a seat with Ororo and Betsy to continue their quiet conversation. Sitting squished between their bodies was one long, warm hug. It was nice.

No, what he hadn’t been expecting was the call from his mother as soon as he got to his room.

She hadn’t said anything egregious or hurtful. Rather, everything she _hadn’t_ said put Bobby on edge. When his mother called it meant he would be listening for an hour to a half-remembered, wholly-rambled tale of neighborhood gossip while having his own attempts at dialogue ignored. That was fine by Bobby, it was what he knew, he was hardly the only man out there with a talkative parent. This time around it was distinctly different. He got stilted pleasantries and long stretches of silence where his mom offered no details about her day and asked Bobby for none. A few times he thought the call disconnected. It lasted less than ten minutes.

Was this going to be his life now? His parents never knew much about him but at they at least pretended to want to.

Bobby pawed at his nightstand to get his phone out. He wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. He had a handful of messages and he went periodically through each one. Most were goodnight texts, two-in-one from Ororo who said Betsy wished him a restful sleep, only Daken stood out amongst the rest, like usual. Did the man ever sleep? Probably not. If anyone was awake right now it would be him. Bobby typed out a hopeful text.

_u dead?_

_Not yet._

_bitchin_

He wasn’t sure where to go from there. He stared at the screen long enough for three dots to blink into place. Daken was typing again.

_Why are you up, Bobby? I hope you are not seeing another handsome rogue who takes you on nighttime adventures on the side._

_ure the only quasivillain 4 me bb_

_Don't make promises you can't keep, snowflake. What's really on your mind?_

Daken really was a semi-decent guy, wasn't he? Perceptive, certainly. He listened and remembered things Bobby didn't recall saying half the time. For a guy who pretended to have the emotional spectrum of a Vulcan he sure understood other people’s feelings well enough. Then again… to manipulate something you would need to understand it first.

There he was again, with an unfair, bitter sentiment he got out of word of mouth and a disastrous first impression. Certainly that had been the case once, but… No. He had already completed this character arc. He was judging Daken on the now.

His determination rung hollow, as if something were missing. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with his subconscious at three in the morning.

In truth, Bobby felt crummy about not inviting him to the museum. He couldn't fathom why Daken would want to go. It wasn't like any of their previous outings. There was no criminal to track down, no exciting mystery to uncover, no buddy cop movie scenario. It was boring Bobby’s boring job. He couldn't see Daken supervising children and enjoying it when he treated them like they were just smaller, angrier adults. It wasn't to say he treated them atrociously, just not like someone who wanted to dedicate his life, or eight hours of it, to their care. To Daken, with his mohawk and his sick tattoo and his edgy, tearful backstory, the non-X side of Bobby’s life was probably dreadfully boring.

One aspect of his character development he wasn’t shaky about was the decision to make the first move more often. Letting Daken pseudo kidnap him was all fine and dandy, but awfully imbalanced. He just needed to figure out what exactly Daken liked to do.

_what thing u like? thing = hobbies + pastimes_

_I appreciate your attempt to clarify your initial question for me. Why the sudden interest in my tastes?_

_just curious. like what do u like 2 do when ure not deliverin the beatdowns_

_Alright, I’ll bite. I think from our adventures you’ve gotten the idea. I like clubs, I like dancing. I like teahouses and antique shops. I like the occasional fashion show. I used to frequent galleries and engage in recreational drug use._

_used to?_

_I don’t do that anymore._

Huh. That bit seemed tacked on at the end of the sentence, dismissive even for Daken. Bobby wasn’t going to push him. He gave him the opening to elaborate and Daken decided not to. He could respect that. He had the list he wanted: clubs, teahouses, and antique shops. A fashion show might put Bobby to sleep. Taking Daken to a club was a no-brainer, it was _lazy,_ at that, and yet the man had said clubs _and_ dancing. He even put it at the top of the list. Bobby could play it safe for starters.

It hit him. The abruptness of the revelation split his face in a smile. He knew exactly how to play it safe while holding a candle to all their previous escapades.

_x-mansion. tomorrow. 12am._

_What?_

_b there or b straight._

_Wouldn’t dream of it, Bobby. See you tomorrow._

=

Sneaking Daken into the mansion was the hardest part. Security precautions for the mansion’s lower levels went up at 10:30pm and you needed to speak to someone on the night shift to get in or out after that. Bobby wasn’t just asking for access to the lower levels, but for an unvetted sometimes-villain to be allowed alongside him. The roster had Kitty on the night shift, and _she_ would most definitely not budge, regardless of how much he begged. It was pure chance that Kitty should trade her shift with Betsy on that fateful Monday night. Betsy didn’t ask any questions, even when he and Daken slipped past the security room, roaming the chrome halls breathless with laughter as Bobby withheld their destination from his guest.

“ _Where_ are you taking me, snowflake?”

“That’s priceless. That’s too good. I could literally say ‘you’ll see’ right now and throw it back in your stupid face. It would be so satisfying.”

“You won’t. You’ve been on the high road so long you don’t know how to get down.”

He stuck his tongue out at the man. Bobby placed his hand on the fingerprint scanner, a holoscreen unfurled above the console like a pearl fan. He logged the presence of an unregistered plus one into the system.

“I don't know where this is,” Daken admitted as the entrance cut open the walls and Bobby took the lead. “But I don't think I am supposed to be down here with you.”

“Nope!”

Bobby stretched his arms towards the silver dome above their heads. Daken’s eyes drifted to the watchtower at one end of the empty room. It wasn't much to look at, not with Bobby sharing the same space.

“Welcome to the Danger Room, D.” Bobby said proudly.

The X-Men’s one-of-a-kind simulation room. It explained the barebones look of the place. Once sentient but now run by a simple, if capable computer. It had been with the school since the beginning and was as much a part of the education of a mutant as any classroom.

Daken popped his claws with some degree of amusement. “How dangerous?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. He grabbed Daken’s arm at the wrist and pried his every finger straight until his claws slid back between his knuckles. Daken’s bones shifted to make room for them. It was incredible and disgusting.  

“We're here of the way to our real stop. Patience.” Bobby spoke in the direction of the watchtower. “Computer: Load Baddie-palooza.”

An echo rippled through the room. Light through the surface of water, a refraction of time and space before their very eyes. Between a blink and the next they were staring at blurred images of themselves on polished chrome and suddenly they were somewhere else entirely. Fairy lights dusted Daken’s cheeks and accentuated the confusion carved on his chiseled features. This couldn't be a simulation. The sights and sounds were as real as the sudden absence of his shirt when Daken touched his chest. It was closer to teleportation and, once Daken breathed in and his memory returned with more clarity, time travel.

“This is… Kingpin’s party?”

No one was ever ready for their first run in the Danger Room. No amount of warning would have helped. Bobby smiled and watched while Daken got used to his surroundings. He reacquainted himself with the leather uniform. With the Danger Room’s assistance it fit a long way better than it had that first night.

“Right you are. Reconstructed through the combined efforts of our minds, down to details we maybe don't even remember. That's the magic of the Danger Room.”

Daken needed only to look around to be certain Bobby was right. Over at the bar stood Peter, Kitty, and Logan. The sofas and ottomans were occupied by Elektra herself and her entourage of miscellaneous nobodies. The Danger Room had almost every villain present already archived in its system. It remembered how they moved, spoke, and were most likely to behave. They were alive.

Daken laughed with an air of disbelief. “Why are we here?”

Bobby stopped short of practicing his lines in the mirror but it had been damn close. The words would come to him in the moment, he thought. He wasn't prepared for the violent twist in his stomach telling him to end this before it begun.

“We were having fun, yeah? It seems like a waste. This is pretty much your element. Half a club, all the dancing and bad guys. We kept getting interrupted that night so.” Bobby pointed out the culprits. “Kitty, and Elektra, and Bullseye throwing you over his head for some reason. Then me throwing you over the…”

Bobby smiled uncomfortably. He knew about burying a crappy memory in the shadow of a hundred new ones, but here he stood, fortunate enough to reshape the past with glorified smoke and mirrors. It was… cheesy at best. Suddenly every second of Daken’s silence put him on edge.

Daken hummed in response. He circled around Bobby while he talked, stopped at an undefined mark behind him.

“So, Kitty did interrupt _something_?”

Through static or wishful thinking Bobby felt Daken lean into the musk of leather and draw a line up his shoulder with the tip of his nose as if he were touching his skin. Bobby exhaled like a chimney in winter. He waved his arms wildly around to dissipate proof his body had tried to cool down the sudden burst of heat it sent through him.

“Dancing! She interrupted dancing.”

“It's coming back to me now.” Daken laughed. “You did a fantastic job of leading us at the time, snowflake.”

Daken wrapped his arms around Bobby’s chest without any of the restraint Bobby was trying to keep a grip on. He tucked his chin into the curve of Bobby’s neck. Bobby had no idea where his own arms were supposed to go, he flattened them over Daken’s on instinct.

“May I have a go at it this time?”

“Okay.” Bobby squeaked.

He should have learned long ago he shouldn’t hold Daken to any expectations. He always went above and beyond anything Bobby could conjure up. Daken turned him around in his arms. He smiled when the music changed mid-song and Bobby knew he had realized how the Danger Room worked. If you focused on what you wanted hard enough the simulation would adjust to suit it. What Daken wanted was an absolutely _filthy_ beat loud enough to vibrate in Bobby’s chest.

His arms fell over Daken’s shoulders. It was nothing like the happy swaying they’d engaged in twice already. It _flowed_ faster, there was no other way to describe it. Daken danced like water urged on by the pulsating notes. Bobby’s movements were jerky and stiff by comparison. He let himself be almost entirely controlled by Daken’s coaxing hands.

“Are these my memories or yours, Bobby?” He asked.

“A mix of both. Little bit of yours, little bit of mine.”

“Interesting.” Daken wondered out loud. “I don’t remember my pants being quite _this_ tight.”

The implication that was _Bobby_ ’s doing in any way was more alarming than the sudden swivel of their bodies. Bobby’s voice wobbled through a response his dance partner seemed wholly uninterested in. Daken gripped his hips and pursed his lips unhappily.

“This is your problem, Bobby. No one ever taught you to move your hips.” He curved his palm into the small of Bobby’s back and brought them–rather intimately– close. Bobby’s pulse quickened. Daken did something obscene with his hips and the proximity of their bodies forced Bobby to match it. _Hot and heavy_. He’d heard that cliche plenty of times but never had he come to close to understanding it. Daken smiled brilliantly at him and nodded as if Bobby had done anything at all.

“Very good. Just like that.”

 _Just like that_ , Bobby’s body wasn’t his own anymore. Daken was the authority between them. The slow build that characterized their dynamic took a step back and then a violent nose dive into the quick and dirty. The music, Kingpin’s party, and Bobby’s very thoughts were second to Daken’s dark eyes and easy smile. His hair fell over his face not like he had worn it that night, but how Bobby liked it. His muscles flexed enticingly. His skin glowed golden brown under the scattered bulbs of light around them. Bobby was reassured by Daken’s breath on his cheek, hot as he felt, and the way his abdomen went tight intermittently. Every provocative, _embarrassing_ undulation of their hips was fun and carefree under his instruction. Letting himself be manipulated by Daken’s deft hands was easier than thinking.

On and on they went, with the stamina of men who fought and did backflips for a living. The songs changed but the violent bass remained the same. He hyper-fixated on the tiny twitches of Daken’s jaw and the sweat at the nape of his neck. The drag of teeth along his ear so light he was half convinced he imagined it. Bobby mussed Daken’s hair because the alternative was to let his fingers trail down Daken’s spine and feel around those muscles so firm there was no give, no give, no give. Every bit as fit, and, tight, and strong as advertised.

Their smooth movements were helped by the effortless strength in Daken’s limbs. The thickness of his shoulders that spoke of power. Bobby’s build was not to be underestimated, but it couldn't be compared to a man confident enough to run shirtless into battle. Bobby felt yanked along for a ride, grounded only by the constant nagging of his brain reminding him to breathe. Daken gripped the back of his toned thigh hard, slid his hand up a fraction. Bobby felt his pulse between his legs.

He pushed away so hard he almost fell over.

“Bathroom!” He yelled. “Gotta– Going to the bathroom.”

He stalked towards the bathroom with an unnaturally stiff waddle and hot, hot ears. He could hear Daken’s footsteps behind him, but worst of all he could hear his laughter. It was almost enough for his temperature to plummet and his mood to sour.

“Bobby! Bobby, come on.” Daken called out, catching up to him. The other people on the roof ignored them, going about their own business as if they weren’t there. Given the Danger Room’s orders, they might as well have not been. They got in Daken’s way, at least, and Bobby used them to put distance between them. “Are you upset?”

“I'm not upset!”

Embarrased was more like it. He felt Daken was playing with him again, even if it likely wasn’t true. Everything was new to Bobby and he was painfully sensitive. He finally found the bathroom signs and followed the arrow into the men’s room without looking back. Daken closed the door behind them.

“You sound upset.” He sighed. “This is my doing. I should have known you wouldn't be comfortable.”

Bobby bent over the sink and splashed water on his face. _His doing_ , Daken said, like Bobby wasn’t a participating party, giving as good as he’d gotten. Just because he had a few reservations about when and where he... Bobby frowned at the mirror.

“I'm not a prude, alright? Everything is just moving like twenty years worth of too fast.”

Daken drifted close. Bobby expected him to keep his hands to himself now that he’d proven he was very likely to run from his touch, but instead he returned with the loose embrace from before, this time stroking his thumb over Bobby’s side. Touch-starved and thriving under physical affection, Bobby accepted the small comfort provided in his arms after an insignificant delay.

“It was not my intention to rush you into anything. That was, to me, just a dance. Nothing more.” Daken spoke into the ear where his teeth had most definitely been earlier. “I would be willing to show you more, when and where you wanted.”

Bobby shuddered. His nose brushed along Daken’s cheek. It was an intriguing idea. He had no doubt Daken could make anything scandalous with enough effort, so he wasn’t selling him a line about it being just a dance. Who knows what his definition of first base even was? They waited for the tension to snap.

“Daken."

The voice was not Bobby’s and it could not be Daken’s. Their eyes met on the mirror before flicking to the figure over Bobby’s shoulder. They separated at their leisure, the person at the door was frozen in time, waiting for a response. Bobby stood with his back to the sink as Daken edged forward. The other man matched his steps and met him in the middle.

“Lester?” said Daken. He shook his head and blinked hard but it wouldn't help. He wasn't seeing things, because Bobby could see Bullseye clear as day.

“That's not supposed to happen.” Bobby warned. Nothing in the simulation was supposed to disturb them. That was the point of it. So why was…

“That night, Lester and I met in the bathroom.” Daken seemed to answer.

A glitch in the system, then. Something replaying one of Daken’s memories rather than just the environment which held it. Either the Room had undergone some kind of damage, or Daken felt strongly about this one moment in time, subconsciously, given his shock. Bobby looked to the hardset line of Bullseye’s brow and the wary distance Daken kept between himself and the hard light hologram. The answer was clear.

“What happened that night?” Bobby asked.

Daken’s eyes shifted between him and Lester. He struggled against the reflex to tell Bobby some half-assed story. There was nothing Bobby wouldn’t believe about Bullseye, but he knew when he was given anything less than the truth. Daken worried at his lip, coming to a final, if reluctant decision not to leave Bobby’s question unanswered.

“Watch.”

Bobby did. Turned out, there was a lot to see. Daken’s demeanor changed in ways best waxed poetic about and alluded to. He commanded his expanse of bathroom tiles like a seasoned actor on the stage. Skinchangers broke bones and melted down their fat to give shape to a new face they liked. Daken smiled a certain way, cocked his hips to one side, looked down from his nose in a sneer, and he was a different man altogether.

“Hello, Lester.” He stretched the greeting out sultrily. “How nice to see you before your shift as a hip-height hole in the wall.”

“Who loosened your leash enough to let you walk in here alone? No surprise there, actually. You did bring a skinny thing more useful as a toothpick than a good time."

Bobby stood in the middle like a referee at a tennis match. Not-Bullseye paid him no mind. Bobby hadn't been part of this conversation, he wasn’t programmed to notice him. Did all exes talk this way? Monologuing with words that bounced off each other because they happened to be in the same room.

“Jealous of me or of him, Lester? I hope it's the latter. He's too fine a thing to get used to the taste of rotting flesh.”

However Bobby felt about being discussed as a toothpick and a fine thing was overshadowed by the drama unfolding before him. Daken’s phrasing caught Lester before he could deliver an equally sharp-tongued reply. His voice took a different edge, like he’d noticed he was speaking to another person and not trading barbs with the mirror.

“Heard I was dead, did you?” It was more a declaration of victory than a question. Lester cornered Daken against the side of a stall with one long stride. Having him caged at his pleasure spurred him, he slammed his forearm over Daken’s head. Bobby left his place at the sink and moved in instinctually. A fight was brewing and even in a simulation he was inclined to stop it. “Wasn't dead long, though. Did you weep for me?”

If Bobby had only been looking at Lester he would have been convinced Daken was terrified. Those piercing, never-miss eyes held an intensity even at a distance. His clawed friend was unimpressed with Not-Bullseye’s posturing. Daken stood proud, back straight and chin tilted up. He had Bobby’s undivided attention as he clicked his tongue and cupped Lester’s face in his hands.

“Lester, I mourned you long ago.” He caressed the man’s face condescendingly, tongue laced with venom. “When you got _boring_.”

There was a sharp hiss of breath before Lester raised his fist to crack Daken across the face. Bobby rushed to stop him for a hot second before he remembered where they were.

“Danger Room, stop!”

Not-Bullseye hung in place, paralyzed by the command. His fist made it scant inches from Daken’s face before Bobby stopped him. Daken never flinched. Untroubled by the hologram’s abrupt pause, he continued to explore the contours of Lester’s face with clinical intent.

“Petty to a childish extent.” Daken assessed out loud like a field reporter handing in an assignment. “Much as you might doubt it, this exchange was unlike me. I wanted him to hurt. I had already made use of and discarded him. I ought to feel nothing. Another meaningless mark among so, so many.”

He sighed and thought hard at the hologram until he crumbled into pixels and disappeared. Every word Daken chose was telling, a cryptograph of meaning Bobby could play with for hours and never come any closer to fully deciphering. Bullseye was a mark. Daken saw people as instruments or obstacles. Wolverines weren’t sadistic, they didn’t play with their food to stretch the deed out before it was done. He derived amusement from Lester’s company but that should have been the end of it. Nothing personal, no hard feelings. It hadn’t been.

“What does your golden heart tell you, Bobby, that I can feel anything outside disdain for such a man?”

For starters, it told Bobby he could feel. Even after admitting it, there would be no point in exposing that reality to Daken’s stubborn mind. Nonetheless, he was in an agreeable, vulnerable state. He stared at the void where Lester once stood, his hands almost reaching. He would benefit from talking through it.

“I would be a hypocrite if I judged. I had a thing with Mystique, remember?”

It made Daken smile and nod. "An avenue we've both walked down on.”

Mystique had been a brief stint of circumstance for Bobby. She meant more to Daken. Like Lester he was drawn to their overlapping worldviews. After his pretend death and the business with the Wolverines, the spark between them was a thing of the past. Daken looked back often but never took the risk of re-igniting it.

“Lester and I had shared life experience and we were admittedly lonely. Misery likes company and what-not. Together we were a destructive force, not least of all to our own minds. We thought our methods barbaric by our respective definitions of the word. He was a butcher, but took pride in never making his victims love him, unlike me, he said.”

Daken pushed off from the wall and spread his arms out as if to bow. He held himself like a showman amidst an audience.

“Thank you for playing, snowflake. You’ve made it this far. It’s been good fun, but the talk is finally here. The elephant in the room is getting the attention it deserves. I’ve killed people, a great deal of them by most standards. Those closest to my heart are man-made weapons and butchers with lax moral values. Thoughts?”

What Bobby liked least about that sentence was the way he said it. This wasn’t Daken, his friend, this was Daken, _Dark Wolverine_. Glamour for the man he knew and held a hard-earned fondness for. The better part of him had wondered off into the night before Bobby had a chance to stop him, and if he wanted to catch up he needed to scurry after him blindly. For Daken, one second of wordless staring was a second too long.

“There is so much you should know before I have your answer and unbridled disgust. I feel no remorse. For the most part, every person I killed was a part of a puzzle, insignificant in the greater scale.They were not all victims of self defense, or the righteous murder of bad, bad men. Some you would consider innocent. I cannot and will not carry their names with me for the rest of my life as my father and sister do their burdens. Neither pleasure nor guilt were part of the equation.”

Bobby saw something in that moment. Daken’s eyes kept deviating from his face. He tried to maintain eye contact, but why should he when he was clearly arguing with himself? Bobby was rendered speechless by the sheer weight of his words. No one man could carry so much and not buckle beneath it.

“Killing was a trade for Lester. It was all _I_ knew. No loose ends. My machinations ensured my survival, why would anyone else matter? I thought the horror people held towards my actions to be… quaint.”

“You thought?” Bobby finally interrupted.

It split the ground at Daken’s feet. His aggression now out of balance, he was forced to take a more defensive stance. He expected the blows to continue in the form of biting questions and appalled remarks. The blood would drain from Bobby’s face and he would look to him like he did every other villain currently standing beyond that bathroom door.

But Bobby had asked a question and he expected  a legitimate answer. He would have the facts before he said another word. His patience stretched like a balm across the space between them and slowly Daken’s bravado floundered. He quieted down to defeat.

“I still don't care for those people, Bobby. I never will. It is not in my nature.” He wavered. “Yet now I care about how it makes those close to me feel. I care about what they would think if I did it all over again. It is as good a deterrent as any."

Daken struggled to find middle ground on a spectrum where that harmony simply did not exist. He admitted to every trespass without hesitation, but staggered on his reasoning for them. Not out of guilt, but because Daken was not a man who had ever felt the need to excuse his actions. He wasn’t doing it for himself, but for Bobby, because he thought Bobby needed to hear it.

His hands clenched around thin air and came closer in pursuit of a clue to make him privy to Bobby’s headspace. It was harder to give him a reply when he hadn’t asked Bobby a single question. They were all there hiding between the lines but Daken wouldn’t help him in making them less ambiguous.

_Is this the dealbreaker? Can you ever come to terms with what I’ve done, knowing I’ve changed? Will you tell me to leave and never come back?_

_Do you hate me?_

“I don't know if that's enough for you, knowing I do not flog myself on the daily with the weight of my guilt. If that makes me a monster in your eyes.” Daken said. It felt like finality.

In a perfect world he wouldn’t have to think about this for more than it took to expel Daken from his home. Faced head-on with a confession of his crimes he would have no excuse to push it far, far back and pay it no mind. Murder was the ultimate breach against mankind. To feel no remorse was to aggravate the misdeed tenfold.

But this wasn’t a perfect world. Bobby wasn’t a philosopher or a lawmaker looking from the outside in. He didn’t believe people could be coldly appraised as one benumbed mass and judged equally for all their faults. If Bobby drew the line at murder he would be short a couple dozen friends. He could not live with himself. The motives Daken so desperately tried to dismiss because he did not care to justify his actions was all that mattered to Bobby in his grey world. Daken’s emotional spectrum did not fall into the rigid norm. No amount of battering on Bobby’s part, or anyone’s for that matter, would change what was intrinsically _him_.

Bobby raised his head.

“I will never think what you did was right, Daken. It will never be excusable. But I see the world in more shades than black and white. I can see you're doing better than you were. An apology would be nothing to me, less than nothing if you didn't mean it. It’s not my place to forgive you for what you’ve done. The facts is all I ask of you. This will never be a simple thing, easily dismissed between us. My feelings on it won’t be resolved with one conversation. This we're doing right now? It won’t be closure, but it’s a start.”

 _That_ right there, it unfurled the discomfort in Bobby’s chest. It was the source of his claustrophobia when he thought about what Johnny and Laura had said. They had urged him to understand Daken’s motives while Bobby had never spoken to the very man about them, it stopped him from taking their advice in full. This conversation was his missing piece. It fit perfectly into the perceived hole in his ribcage. Bobby took Daken’s hand before he could think better of it. He expected tremors to wrack his fingers. They were steady as a surgeon’s.

“You're never going to outrun your past, but you can be a version of yourself in the present and the future worth sticking by.”

Hope tentatively spread through him like the first buds of spring, their joined hands a line through which he longed to share and strengthen it. Bobby kept watch on Daken’s knuckles as if they could tell him a story, but it was as likely as making out his claws while sheathed. He thought he’d reached him when Daken’s fingers tickled under his chin as he liked to do when he wanted Bobby’s eyes on his.

Bobby’s blood went cold when he recognized the facade.

“Oh, Bobby.” Daken muttered with the same haughtiness Not-Bullseye had been afforded. “You want the facts? The fact is I cannot unmake me. The things I believe would churn your stomach and your pain would only confuse and frustrate me. Even now, knowing my pheromones did half the work endearing you to me, I don't care. Because all I do, every avenue at my disposal, is merely a means to an end.”

His.

His _what_.

Bobby slapped his hand away from his face.

“Your pheromones?”

“I could not shut them off if I wanted to.” Daken grated out. He had the audacity to tighten his hand over his own chest and look _hurt_ , as if the gentle graze hadn’t been a mockery of the affection Bobby had just unconditionally offered him. Again he hid behind the deflective shield of his unapologetic nature. “I never learned to stifle them in their entirety. Doubt our every moment together if you must. Make of it what you will. To me they are no different from using psychology, advice columns, love charms, or wearing a cologne you like to bring you closer. It is something I can _do._ So I do it.” He tore his hand from Bobby’s grasp and turned half away from him.

Bobby laughed.

And laughed.

He laughed until it bordered on hysterics. A humorless sound forced from his throat by virtue of all this _ridiculousness_. He felt like the protagonist of an overhyped teen drama with shoddy writing with Daken as a far more dedicated actor than him. What was he supposed to do now? On television, Daken’s assertion would make his hair raise and he would recalculate every second they had spent together under new light. He would reject him, scandalized and betrayed. Murder! No. Murder paled in comparison to Daken taking from him his autonomy!

What could he do except laugh?

“Daken. Is that what you think is happening here? You think I am having a serious conversation with you about how I will never fully come to terms with the things you've done but I can still be your friend regardless, because you've got me under some kind of neurochemical con job?”

Daken didn’t think it was funny. In fact, he had grown increasingly red in the face and white at the knuckles. The indifferent, snobby, would-be monster he had tried to slip past Bobby (like he didn’t _know_ him by now) was replaced by an angry boy on the verge of a tantrum.

“You can't even begin to understand how my pheromones work. If I lack clear intent on their use, your mind does all the work for me. You do things you wouldn't usually do with your head screwed on properly.”

“Uh-huh. And I imagine your pheromones have limitations? Say distance? The physicality of the object of your attention? Or maybe a recorded history of resisting both telepathic and neurochemical manipulation?”

He could practically see the cogwheels in Daken’s skull stuttering to a stop. Bobby had not been misunderstood. Whether Daken knew from word of mouth or he had figured out by himself (what with Bobby somehow managing to tuck away his entire _sexual orientation_ for most of his adult life) didn’t matter. The gears spun again, smoke practically billowed out his ears.

“Bobby, if you're suggesting you're immune–”

But Bobby was so very tired of this two-bit tween drama storyline. His face hardened. He stood his ground firmly. He poked Daken’s chest with one insistent index finger. Blush spread in ugly splotches along his face and neck, but he would not let _shame_ of all things stop him from setting Daken straight.

“I am not suggesting anything. I know. I know I think about you at three in the morning every day for no fucking reason.”

“I was in your bed. Scent lingers in ways you could not possibly–”

“I know I check my phone in class even when there's nothing to see– and I _know_ there's nothing to see because I've stopped turning it off in case you call. I can't get the most unbelievably frustrating man I've ever met out of my head. I run from confrontations, D, so fast even your pants-shitting fear of commitment could not equal it. Yet here I am willing to fight you on this until it gets through your thick skull. I want to see the world through your eyes for long enough to untangle the puzzle that is how you can be so self-confident and doubt yourself so much at the same _fucking_ time, Daken.”

He got the man’s mystified engrossment and long, owlish blinks. Daken made the universal sound for stumbling into a situation at a loss of words. Bobby’s hands flailed. There was no shirt by which to grab Daken and give him a good shake. Or stop him from running. Whichever felt more imminent. He ended the simulation with one fiercely potent thought and the emergency code.

“You want your proof? Push me. Go on. Think at me real hard. Look at me with intent. Touch my whatever gland and make it happen. However it works. _Make me do something._ ”

The shock wore off when Bobby wrinkled his shirt in his fists. Daken circled his wrists and made to wrest them off. He glowered. “I don't need to–”

“I will cut you off a thousand times if I have to. It's pretty funny actually. You get this bewildered look on your face. I can already tell I will never get tired of it.”

Daken squinted and bared his teeth before clamping his lips shut. He refused to dignify Bobby’s heckling with an answer and stopped trying to brush him off. He let his arms fall to his side and his face blanked. Bobby was losing him again. He let go of Daken’s shirt, smoothing down the fabric in the form of an apology. He had to think about how Daken must be feeling. This was uncomfortable for him too. They wouldn’t get anywhere if they were just angry at each other. He softened, requesting where he had been demanding.  

“I am asking you to do this, I am giving you permission, explicit consent, to reach inside yourself and do your worst.”

Guilt pooled in his stomach when Daken finally looked at him. He was, without a doubt, unhappy. It was the mildest word Bobby could ascribe to the miserable curl of his lower lip. He almost rescinded his request, but Daken was already nodding and then it was too late. Another skin shed and replaced, Daken fixed Bobby in place with fierce eyes. He straightened, taking full advantage of the minor height difference between them. Bobby couldn’t place what it was, but Daken’s voice was different somehow. Deep, sultry, full of fervor.

“Kiss me.”

Whispered inflexibly like Bobby was the one man in the world that could fulfill it and no timeline existed where Bobby might deny him. The deafening drone of blood in his ears he had learned to associate with Daken’s advances was a slow, tender purr.  Desire intertwined with _yesnowpleasebobby_ . He hungered for Daken’s sharp teeth and practiced tongue. He would kiss him with his entire body, as passionately as they had danced. Bobby felt beckoned by full lips, slick with a brush of Daken’s tongue, waiting to be kissed. Bobby _wanted_.

Wanted, but didn’t need to.

The appetite tugging at his loins was not unnatural. It was a sensation he recognized from the strewed moments he had dared to fantasize about the taste of Daken. He didn’t _need_ to do anything. He had wanted to kiss Daken for longer than he could remember. First out of curiosity and now out of desire. It had nothing to do with pheromones or shrewd manipulation. It was part of the flowering escalation driving them towards catharsis.

“No.” Bobby breathed with relief, because some hateful, frightened slice of his mind had doubted his conviction for one ghastly instant. He repeated it again to be sure, smile growing wider. “No.”

“No?” Daken asked, gutted and breathless by Bobby’s decisively _un_ -bewitched retort.

“No!” Bobby snapped. He hung himself around Daken’s neck. The man could dance like he wasn’t afraid to ravage Bobby at a moment’s notice but could not find a place for his hands during a hug. “No one ever _listens to me_. I am right more often than I am given any credit for.”

Sweet immunity and unnaturally strong mental fortitude. It had done him plenty of harm throughout his life, tucking away the scarier parts of Bobby’s identity so he could make it alive to the end of the day without curling into the fetal position. His resistance to Gambit’s charm, telepathy, and now Daken’s pheromones were something to be eternally grateful for, not because he was scared of them, but because now Daken would know Bobby’s intentions were in no way tainted by Daken’s desire to be accepted regardless of his flaws. Whatever chemical reactions he set off in Bobby’s brain were a product of what their relationship had developed into.

It occurred to him that this was a first for Daken. He had a set of rules and expectations he lived by and wasn’t open to any corrections. He had determined Bobby’s feelings were in part what he wished them to be. Now Bobby’s emotions were independent of anything he desired. Impartial and unpredictable. Outside of Daken’s control in the surest of ways. He looked at him and, sure enough, he was in the process of coping maybe not so well.

“Daken?” Bobby tried. Daken was there with him and not at all. His eyes were murky and disoriented. He had retreated into safer confines. Bobby needed to handle this with kid’s gloves, or like one might hold an injured bird. One wrong move and he would flap his wings and make it worse. He went through the list of things that put Daken at ease and settled on Laura. “Laura would have known if something was wrong when she came to see me. She knew, same as I did.”

It was the wrong move.

When Daken’s eyes rolled towards him it was horror movie worthy. His eyes widened slowly as if he were taking things in pieces. Bobby released him out of self preservation when a harsh snarl out between Daken’s teeth made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.

“You spoke to Laura? No.” He revised sharply. “Of course you spoke to Laura.”

“What’s wrong? I thought you knew.” Bobby said carefully.

“Why would she tell me?” Daken laughed. He held the back of his head in his hands. “Of course you spoke to Laura. How else would you know exactly what to say?

“Daken, what…”

“How tired of me she must be if she will give the keys of my psyche to someone else. It was sloppy though, too sloppy...”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

He finally remembered Bobby was there. The ends of his lips twitched in an effort to keep the smile in place.

“How else would a gullible little princeling who couldn’t get over himself long enough to figure out he liked _boys_ for who knows how many years possibly understand _me?_ ”

The resounding smack of his palm as he struck Daken across the face was louder than he expected. Bobby had never hit anyone with his open hand before. Daken wasn’t smiling anymore.

He touched his reddened cheek gingerly, needing to feel the heat on the pads of his fingers to know it had happened. Bobby had _slapped_ him.

“I have given you every opportunity to _get over yourself_.” Bobby shook. “I don’t know what demons are eating at you right now, but if you won’t let me help– I won’t– No one is ever going to– I will not be disrespected. Not like that.”

 _Not knowing_ what went wrong was the most difficult part. Maybe if he’d listened more carefully to Daken’s rambling he could have gathered the essence of his distress. He wanted to understand, but he was… tired. So very tired. He couldn’t do anything if Daken would not cooperate. Specially not if he lashed out at him like he was the source of the problem. Bobby had been understanding enough for one night.

He could run Daken out of the building screaming. He knew of three porcelain vases they would be forced to pass on the way out that he could lob at his head. His palm stung to remind him he had already done one childish, melodramatic thing he would regret come morning. Bobby wrapped his arms around himself.

“You should go, Daken. Figure whatever this is out.”

He turned away so he wouldn’t have to watch Daken leave. He didn’t want to know if he hesitated or tried to speak. He wished to be forever blissfully ignorant of whether or not Bobby’s feelings mattered enough not to be dismissed as another thing he wouldn’t apologize for. He was thankful he couldn’t _possibly_ understand the inner workings of Daken’s mind, so he could not make any guesses towards the nature of his exit. Forlorn and regretful or entirely apathetic. He didn’t want to know. Not right then when he was just barely holding it together.

He waited a long time to make sure he was alone. He covered his mouth with his hand. Heartache had an unsavory tendency to bounce off the chrome walls, and he didn’t want to disturb Betsy so late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOBODY TAKE MY HEAD OFF I KNOW I KNOW I WILL FIX IT


	9. Daken is Messed Up, Like, Emotionally.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken visits Johnny in Avengers Mansion to make sure He's still got it ("it" is being underhanded).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter that was actually supposed to be part of a longer chapter nine, but it was getting intimidatingly long, so I cut out the rest and I'll be putting it in later chapters. This is not the last Daken POV.
> 
> Remember how some of you like Daken now??? Well. Maybe not after this one... depends on whether or not you take him at face value on how he sees himself.

The air outside was cold enough to put a shiver in his chest. He circled the building until he found his entry point, a lone window left open towards the balcony, blue curtains painting shadows across the railing. As soon as he crossed the threshold he was greeted with a warmth like the first sign of spring after a cold winter. Soundless steps led him to the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his knees. His body ran hot with blood, but nothing like this. The sheets felt fresh out of the wash, toasty without growing unpleasant. Sweat made his fingers clumsy and he could not blame it on the dry, dry heat. 

Johnny made sunflowers out of men. Daken turned towards the glowing sun of his hair and laid his elbow above his head. Stealth was not a necessity to keep Johnny to his dreams. He was a heavy sleeper, a dangerous thing to be when he left his window open most nights. He thought himself a plump orange cat lazing through a heat wave, trusting no one would take advantage of his exposed belly. He was something different to Daken. White linens hugged him around the waist and tangled in his legs, taut where they tucked into either side of the bed, hands pinned under his pillow. With his elbows jutting out and the dark smatter of freckles across his golden skin, he was a monarch butterfly, stuck in spider web. 

Johnny had a habit of sleeping naked. He blamed it on being a walking, talking onsen, but if his Fantastic uniform was designed to regulate his temperature it was likely he could afford pajamas tailored to the same effect. He put on a show even when no one was watching. If Daken remembered correctly, he also startled easy as a fawn if anyone caught him that way. Things were never as glamorous or sensual as Johnny first planned them. 

Daken ran his knuckles over his sternum. His touch had to be heavier than the brush of a fly to rouse him. He remembered seducing Johnny with utmost clarity. He was the easiest of the Four to target. He had a reputation for being a lady’s man and a bit of a dunce, the perfect combination for a honeypot scheme. Daken wanted to stoke the charcoal bits of his soul and watch him unravel. 

If there was darkness in Johnny, Daken had not found it. Johnny walked in the light like he had never known anything else. He made Daken brighter by association. He saw him as another wounded creature Reed Richards had brought home to heal, so all flaws were a result of their abuse, not their base nature. It should have been condescending, some days it was, but Daken turned towards the sun all the same. 

So he was his friend first. That was fine. He had made friends of his marks before. It meant this would not end badly and for that he was oddly glad. 

Except Johnny shied from his hands. Not noticeably at first, he maneuvered Daken’s caresses into platonic territory. It was Male Bonding and Horse Play, indulgences to a surely touch-starved Daken after living among Norman Osborn’s Avengers. He almost threw the towel and decided Jonathan Storm was the only man in spandex who could claim he was actually straight. Except he tasted Johnny’s desire in the air whenever his back was turned to him, at night in their shared room, always, always out of the corner of his eye and frustratingly gone without a trace when he sought it out. 

It took one impromptu dinner with Peter Parker to understand. 

_ Oh _ . Daken thought.  _ That's it _ .

Johnny and Daken were friends like Peter and Johnny were friends. Peter and his big, oblivious cow eyes. He loved Johnny without loving him enough. Johnny had learned every curve ball from him: Horse Play, Male Bonding. Because he couldn't have anymore from a friend without jeopardizing their relationship, because if their every exchange was anything more than frat boys playing at camaraderie on the field, the world itself would collapse. 

Daken had been so happy to prove him wrong. Seduction was a waste of time. Johnny needed to be confronted with his desires and encouraged to recognize them as such. Daken shared stories of his conquests: women first, then men. He prompted him for the same, extra emphasis on the latter. Johnny’s eyes went comically wide. He found a laughable foe in Johnny’s ingrained belief that only teenagers had a right to explore their orientation. It was painfully old-fashioned and strangely irrational. Daken had visited clubs alongside him, he knew Johnny had friends on every rung of the scale. Johnny didn’t like to be laughed at. Daken kissed him to show he was serious as a heart attack. When he was ready, he shared his bed, slow and easy, just like that. Daken was a much better friend than the boy with the unwitting brown eyes.

He stirred when Daken pressed against the soft curve of his belly. The pads of his fingers tickled at the line above his navel. Disoriented, Johnny bat away the disturbance and caught Daken’s fist in his hand. 

“Hi.” Daken smiled. 

“Daken.” He didn’t need to shush him because Johnny had shocked himself out of breath. 

It was frowned upon to compare people you were attracted to, but it was unavoidable. He could see the lines drawn between the many, many dots, parallels even an outsider could point out. 

Masters of fire and ice beyond simple manipulation. The embodiment of their elements. Earnest superheroes with similar coping mechanisms, blinding always with the shine coming off their teeth. Family men, romance oriented. 

Different builds, different temper. Fire and ice. Johnny took all the inappropriate bits of Daken in stride while Bobby rolled his eyes. He accepted what he was but had little qualms about telling Daken what he was was an asshole. He got the distinct impression Bobby saw all the holes Daken poked at every discrepancy overwhelmingly present in the lives of the “good guys”, and he didn’t care. He continued to work towards an undefined utopia because helping one person was better than whining about his thankless efforts. He held a healthy dash of cynicism and an enviable moral compass. The shadows of him were not darkness, but depth. 

Johnny wanted only one thing: to be loved unconditionally, always, and to love in return. What did Bobby want? 

What could Daken give him if he couldn't anticipate that much? 

“It's been a long time, Johnny.” He leaned over him with intent. His thumb followed the sharp line of his jaw. “Has it been long enough for this to nudge at you with some nostalgia?” 

Johnny gaped, brows pinched over his nose. He expected a lot of things from that handsome face, but none of it was the befuddlement he received. He was prepared for rejection, even fear, although painful, would have sufficed. Confusion warped to concern, a knife struck between Daken’s ribs and twisted. His pride bled across the space between their bodies. Johnny’s cheek sizzled. 

A beat. Sizzled? Another soundless drip followed by a tiny brushstroke of vapor rising off his tan skin. Horrified, Daken touched his own face. Lashes wet his fingers. 

“Daken…” Johnny repeated slowly, with a voice like a veterinarian easing an animal out of a corner. He sat up slowly, forcing Daken to sit back. He was everything Daken despised, patient, kind, scared for him and never of him. “It's alright, Daken.”

_ Repeat his name to jostle him out of his head _ . What a nasty trick. Johnny reached for him after a moment’s hesitation and he recoiled like the frightened animal he didn't want to be.

“Touch me and I will put my claws through your chest.” The warning came on the defensive, fangs bared. 

Johnny raised his hands above his head before Daken could even finish the sentence. He snarled at the blonde man and tasted the salt staining his face. 

“Whenever you're ready." Johnny said stupidly. 

Ready for what? What the hell was Johnny going on about? Daken scrubbed his hands over his face. The man had one job: he was to tell Daken he didn't want to fuck and that would be that. He had grown too much as a person. His friendship with Daken was strong, but whatever they had during the War could not be again. Johnny was a big boy now. He knew what was healthy for him. Even though they both knew he was lonely, desperate for attention just like he'd always been. Daken would say all the pretty words about understanding and respecting his choice, and he'd leave him an open invitation to change his mind anytime like a landmine in the field of Johnny's progress. That was the formula Daken had devised for their exchange. In one of the variable outcomes Johnny grew upset after he realized Daken knew he would say no and toyed with him anyway. No one likes to be predictable. 

They were all so wonderfully predictable. They were pawns on a chessboard and Daken was a seasoned player who could anticipate every move. They were mathematical patterns, golden ratios of behavior, always the same at their base. A puppeteer knew which strings did what to make a marionette dance, but the result was still a wonder to behold. A polished red button with danger labels begged to be pressed. Voltage signs warned of a painful death and the human brain asked:  _ promise _ ? Daken was a chaos-bringer, and chaos without structure was meaningless. Wanton disorder without preexisting balance was just a different kind of ordinary. Predictable did not equal boring, it was an overabundance of potential excitement. Knowing what you wanted and moving around the pieces at your disposal to obtain it was a luxury few in the world had the pleasure to partake in. 

Daken had tried to capitalize on his abilities by taking over the world more than once. It was every villain’s dream and he'd been told he was one. He held Ragnarok at his fingertips and tasted divinity, became chaos personified. He'd reached the summit, come steps away from godhood, and realized it was lonely at the top. He squinted at the distance and saw nothing waiting for him. Ruling over the masses was boring. Wiping them out even more so. What purpose was there in doing anything that would leave behind no witnesses? People blurred into one another until they were nothing more than one hysteric blob. Patterns were difficult to discern in a hivemind. The world was volatile, he had no time to savor one thing before it disappeared for good. The common attributes stood stronger than what made each person unique. One man could keep Daken entertained for centuries. The world bored him within minutes. 

Daken was a clockmaker, things worked because he built them to. He positioned each individual gear in its rightful place and set it all in motion. He determined how it would come up and how he would bring it down. The last time something didn't behave the way it was supposed to he wandered the streets as a self-destructive drug addict. When his healing factor malfunctioned he lost an arm and an eye. 

What would Bobby take from him?

If Daken wasn’t playing Bobby, then Bobby had to be playing Daken. Those were the laws relationships operated on. Bite, chew, swallow. 

Daken swallowed bitterly. His breathing had grown ragged as he walked the dangerous labyrinth of self-reflection. He swayed dangerously towards Johnny. Mind blank, he wrapped his arms around the man and buried his face in his neck. He sought out the comfort of an overuse of body spray and the natural musky scent of Johnny’s bare skin. He let the blonde’s voice fill him with a false sense of security. 

They fell back on the bed where Daken could cover him with his body and know by the tight squeeze of Johnny’s arms that he did not want to squirm away. He buried his fingers into his firebrand hair, looked for any one inch of Johnny that might reject him by scorching him to the muscle. Unconditional love did not exist. Something in him was bound to snap, and then Daken could point and smile and be happy to have his miserable expectations met. 

Johnny held him without concerns for his nudity or a lick of tension. There was nothing sensual about the way Daken’s face continued leaking over his shoulder. After planning a cruel, careless gesture intended to prove Johnny would still dance to his predetermined tune , he let his friend comfort him, unconditionally. 

Bite, chew, swallow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that made no sense to me when I wrote it either so we're on the same boat here


	10. The Gang Enables Fratricide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken joins the Avengers?! Well, no, not really.

Johnny’s hair was hot silk between his fingers. He smelled fresh out of the shower, no trace of product to dissuade Daken from threading through spun gold. Johnny’s even breaths warmed his neck. His arm was falling asleep under the blonde man after holding his weight for too long. He promised to wait for Daken ready. Johnny was wide awake and would stubbornly remain that way. He couldn't chance slipping out until Johnny was asleep in hopes of preventing awkward confrontation. Daken considered taking part of the man’s ear off with his teeth. His lips thinned to resignation. 

“What do you want me to say?” He asked. 

Johnny startled easily, his patience performative, neither of them were the necessary three steps ahead to deal with a heart-to-heart.

“You came in here crying. That's a good place to start, I think. Why?”

It came as no surprise Johnny focused on the tears. To him, that was more striking than Daken invading his personal space in the middle of the night to goad him. Typical Johnny. Emotion spoke louder than duplicity.

“I can't answer that.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Take a guess.” Daken bit out. 

He can't. Daken hadn't cried since he was in a hospital bed with Laura at his side speaking in terms of the family he’d never had. That he could understand. His character bordered on unpredictable when it came to matters of blood. His emotions could be swayed to extremes with relative ease. Laura’s budding loyalty. Logan’s death. 

In any case, it didn't matter. Daken was older than the stigma against tears. He was only concerned because it wasn't something he usually did. Abnormal bodily responses were worth tallying. If anyone suggested it was a sign of weakness, he would rip off their head and drink from their neck.

“Where we you before you came here?” Johnny rephrased. 

“At Bobby’s place.”

He shrugged dismissively. Johnny pulled away to smack the back of his hand against Daken’s chest. 

“What happened?”

“What makes you think anything happened?” Daken countered. 

“Bluff, mostly, but now you’ve gone and proved it for me.” Johnny smiled sadly. The hand on Daken’s chest moved to rub his arm. It was intended to feel comforting, no doubt.  “What did you do, Daken?” 

“I didn’t do anything.” He snapped. 

“I’m going to give you a minute to think of a better answer. Get back to me when you’ve figured one out that doesn’t sound like a lie.” 

There was a trace of humor in Johnny’s voice and an amused curve to his eyebrows. It fought the nervous stiffness of his jaw when he closed his mouth. Johnny understood Daken better than anyone, most notably he accepted he didn’t  _ know  _ him at all.  _ Complicated  _ was his middle name. The snark was a gamble that would either crack Daken wide open or shut him up for good. 

“We fought.” Daken caved. 

“Hard enough to make you cry?”

“It’s not Bobby. Or at least it’s not just him--” Daken rubbed a hand over his face and sighed against his palm. “I am overwhelmed by stagnation. There is no balance in my life.”

Johnny’s hand stroked him from shoulder to wrist. He was wide-eyed and attentive, eager to hear him elaborate. He thought they’d made progress just by getting Daken to talk, the poor, optimistic creature. 

“I’ve no purpose.” Daken continued. “I am not  _ bored  _ of Madripoor, but I resent having been interrupted in my efforts there. It would be like returning to a tainted meal. My father is dead and I have no interest in ridding the world of his lazy duplicates. My sister… has a sister of her own. One who won’t turn on her as easily as she loves her. Do you understand?”

“Idle hands are the devil’s playground.” Johnny parroted. “I had a lot of hardcore Catholic friends in my tweens.” 

“The sentiment is the same. Stiff religious proverbs aside, I am not a nice man, and currently, I am a very  _ bored,  _ not nice man. It was only a matter of time before I turned on Iceman.”

“Is that really what it is, Daken?” Johnny muttered. “I didn’t get the impression Bobby bores you.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I am just--” Johnny bit his lip. His mouth pinched to one side. “You have been doing stuff, Daken. It sounded like you guys made each other happy. What even happened? For real this time. What literally went down?”

He hesitated to give Johnny the play-by-play. Bobby and Daken had touched on a couple of things that were still a sore spot between him and the blonde man. The  _ handle with care  _ label was a permanent fixture. 

He watched Johnny’s face for any shift. “He revealed he was unaffected by my pheromones and made assumptions about our relationship as a result. He might have ridiculed some of my own assumptions in the process as well. I insulted him. He slapped me.”

“What, like, with his hand?”

Daken sighed. “No, Johnny, with mine.”  

“So he hit you?” He said unhappily. 

“I might… Have suggested being closeted for such a long time was a result of his intelligence, or rather lack thereof.”

Johnny’s soothing hand punched him hard on the tit. Daken hissed and cradled his chest. 

“What the  _ fuck, _ Johnny?!”

“I am surprised he hit you with his hand open!” Johnny yelled right back. His eyes sparked with an annoyed burst of orange and yellow. He sat up and sensation came back to Daken’s arm. Daken followed him a second later. 

“Alright! Alright. I get it. It was cruel on purpose and  _ to  _ a purpose. You weren’t there. I did him a favor.”

“By hurting his feelings so he’d drop you as a friend? Yeah, you probably did. Didn’t do yourself any favors, or respected what  _ Bobby  _ wants though.” 

“How do you know what Bobby wants?” Daken spat.

Johnny gestured wildly with his hands, from his chest outward. He had trouble expressing himself with words and Daken was putting him through the wringer. Good, now they were both on equal ground. The  _ understanding  _ schtick was getting on his nerves. 

“Because I have eyes, Daken! Eyes and a basic understanding of the stupider human emotions you’re not a fan of. The irrational like-liking terrible people. It’s why you’re in my bed while I am naked and I’m  _ still _ trying to be a good friend.” 

The door clicked. Their heads turned in time with the sound of it cracking ajar. It swung open and slammed against the wall. Rogue walked in in her pajamas, arms raised over her head, a bottle of clear liquor in one gloved hand. 

“Rise an’ shine, scramblehead! We’re gonna--”

Rogue’s smile solidified uncomfortably in her face as she came to a cold stop. Her brow furrowed tightly, eyes widening. She dropped her arms and nearly the bottle. 

“What in the world?”

The blood and bravado drained out of his face. Johnny gathered the forgotten bedsheets around his waist and strained his voice until it cracked. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Daken rolled his eyes.  _ It’s not what it looks like. _ The universal code for innocence. His conversation with Johnny come to a happy conclusion, he reached for some pillows to fluff up to make himself comfortable. Rogue and Johnny continued shouting over his head.

“Not what it looks like?! Johnny! I can see your ass!” 

“That’s just how I sleep sometimes! I promise!”

“And I can see him!” Rogue pointed straight at Daken. Daken pointed straight at himself and mouthed  _ me? _ . “I swear if you’re helping this one two-time one of my  _ friends  _ you’re gonna be in real trouble!” 

Daken’s amusement flattened. “Excuse me, two-time who?” 

Rogue’s cheeks reddened and she crossed her arms over her chest. She huffed like a scandalized dowager. “Look, I am the last person to judge anyone’s beat-’round-the-bush relationships, but I am also the most qualified to judge anyone’s beat-’round-the-bush relationships. Am making it my business.” 

Daken turned to Johnny. “What is the skunk-haired woman talking about?” 

“Why I oughta--”

“I think Rogue is talking about Bobby, Daken.” Johnny answered in an unusually small voice. Daken looked at Rogue for clarification and she nodded decisively. 

“I am not dating Bobby.” He couldn’t believe this was something that needed saying.

“You’re not.” Rogue said obviously. She put the bottle down on Johnny’s dresser and walked to the end of the bed. “But everybody and their dog can tell there’s something between you two. Ain’t right to go around beddin’ blonde boys while you’re still playing courtship. That confuses things.” 

Daken frowned. “For everyone who thinks we’re dating?”

“For you two! My God, it’s like talkin’ to a goldfish.” 

“Mission accomplished. I am incredibly confused.”

“Look, do you like Bobby or not? Cause if not, you should probably tell him that before doing anythin’, or anyone, else.”

Hot anger bubbled up in his chest. He could forgive freshness from Johnny, he owed him that much, but if anyone he’d never spoken two words to before thought they could comment on his personal life, they were in for a rude awakening. Johnny put an arm on Daken’s shoulder before he could explode. Daken calmed without meaning to. Johnny was getting better at playing buffer. 

“Rogue, please. He’s had a hard night. He was just here to talk.” 

Rogue sighed. She sat on the bed, grating on Daken’s nerves. He was territorial about Johnny’s space, but the room smelled faintly enough of her to say she was welcome. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t act like I’m some kind a love expert, but I know a recipe for heartbreak when I see one.”

“Apology accepted.” Daken said before anyone could take that away from him. 

“Daken  _ is  _ having some problems with Bobby.”

Betrayal tasted like copper. Daken stared at Johnny like he’d stuck a shiv in his spine, paralyzed with disbelief. Johnny jumped to the defensive, gesturing between himself and Rogue. 

“I can’t help you! You can’t help yourself. I say we listen to the one person who sounds like they can, so you can make nice with Bobby again.” 

“I have no interest in mending things with Bobby!” 

“Then I  _ definitely  _ can’t help either.” Rogue chirped on the sidelines. 

She took the wind out of Johnny’s sails and he made do for the loss with an exasperated huff. He tensed and curled into himself, kicking his feet in like a child on the brink of a tantrum. Daken could relate, strangely enough. He only enjoyed the theatrics he staged himself. Sitting in a circle yelling in the same form was not his idea of a good time. The wind picked up outside and slammed the balcony doors shut. After a long, awkward silence, Rogue pat the bed and made to get up.

“Well, I see you boys got your hands full here, so I’ll be goin’.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and reclaimed the bottle on the cabinet. Her exit was too easy for one who looked at Daken with so much wariness. She eyed the space between him and Johnny, expecting it to sprout thorns and bleed him to death. Nevermind that Johnny took up most of the bed and had scooted closer after Daken hugged the edge. He was right where he wanted to be and that was no business of Rogue’s. 

“Wait!” Johnny jumped out of his stupor, suddenly electrified. He slapped his hand over Daken’s leg and rumpled the fabric of his pants in his fist. “Can Daken stay here a while? In the mansion?”

Far be it from Daken to try and untangle the coils braiding Johnny’s brain cells together. Rogue and Daken blinked. They cocked their heads. “You’re asking me?” She asked. 

“Please.” Johnny said unhelpfully. “At least until next weekend.”

_ Weekend  _ must have been some kind of codeword between them judging by the recognition in Rogue’s face. She put her hands on her hips and leaned back as if to get a better look at Daken from a distance. 

“I don’t know. Usually, we’d vote with the others about who we let on the team.” 

“Every team needs its Wolverine.” Johnny sang. “And we’ve been missing our’s.”

_ Team? Wolverine?  _ Daken’s temper flared at the comparison. He was a Wolverine, but he wasn’t a  _ Wolverine _ , not the trained lapdog figure his father had propagated by selling himself out for half a pint to every licensed hero team in the country.

“Have I no say in this?” Daken butted in. He gripped Johnny’s arm at the wrist, but the blonde man would not relinquish his grip on his pants. He had zero to no interest in being any one team’s  _ Wolverine,  _ least of all a team of Avengers. Had Johnny left out the  _ limited time only  _ caveat from his offer, and if he weren’t Daken’s treasured friend and all that mushy business, he would find himself missing the weight of an arm.

“You’re not hanging out at the X-Mansion anymore, and you said you wanted something to do.” His hair glowed bright as a bulb with ideas. “This is something to do. Who knows? You might even like it around here.”

“Doubtful.” Daken jeered.  

Hm. He wasn’t wrong, not entirely. On the one hand, he’d already tried being an Avenger once. Teamwork wasn’t for him. On the other, he’d reaped very interesting rewards in his last escapade. More than anything he was curious about the plan Johnny had so clearly devised in a few beats of silence. It was unlike him to be sly. He knew better than to expect Daken’s willpower to falter easily in the face of a challenge. 

He also knew Daken would not back out from a well-placed opportunity to stick his nose in Avengers business. He liked having good intel.

“Very well.” He acquiesced. He tilted his head towards Rogue. “If you would have me. Until next weekend.”

Rogue had had her own time to think. She lifted her hands in defeat, more than a little because she trusted Johnny’s terrible good sense to a dangerous degree. For the first time, Daken noticed the liquor bottle she’d brought with her was a quarter of the way empty. She spun on her heel and replied maybe more loudly than intended. 

“We let Wanda in. Why not! Free Avengers membership for everybody!”

Daken’s questioning glance bounced off Johnny’s shrug. He was right about one thing, this was going to be interesting. 

=

Interesting turned to annoying when Rogue got up around mid-morning, sobered up and ready to drag Daken’s ass across hot coals. She insisted Daken could not stay in Johnny’s room the full week he was bound by his word to stick around and a guest room was made available for him. Daken’s word was worth as much as those knock-off, cornerstore Arkansas souvenir plates Deadpool apparently collected, and he planned to sneak back into the Torch’s room as often as he felt like it, but Johnny had stepped on his foot when he’d tried to warn her as much. 

He had breakfast with the Avengers because his favorite bagel shop was too far away to bother, lunch because he already had standing dates with Johnny, dinner because they knew the best take-out in the area. He joined them in their morning drills because he had nothing better to do. He took tea with the Maximoff woman because she was the only one who knew how to put a kettle on without burning the mansion down. He talked to the  _ other  _ skunk-haired Avenger with the austere, Louisiana-gothic fashion sense because he was the one person in the building suited for no-strings-attached, idle chatter. Cable was there. He was large, and looming, and didn’t trust him at all. Daken loved him. His days consisted of conveniences built on circumstances, with the added encouragement of Johnny’s round, blue eyes gleaming whenever he considered denying their invitations to join them outright. 

And for a week, his phone remained silent. 

He didn’t reach out to Bobby and Bobby didn’t reach out to him. His social media presence remained the same, this time without pictures of him and Daken scattered through a few dozen tweets a day. He felt childish checking in at two in the morning, expecting something from the man that wasn’t coming. 

Spending his nights with Johnny had given them more time to go over what happened. He told Johnny everything, sparing fewer details the longer they stayed awake. Johnny listened and sometimes judged, but he never forced him to think about reparations again. It was just a weight Daken needed off his chest. A burden on his pride and nothing else. 

Daken missed ambition. The thrill of wanting everything, the willingness to take anyone down to have it. He made himself sick, pining over an X-Man, living among Avengers. If the him of five years ago could see him now, he would put him down and call it mercy. But even when not at the top of his game, Daken was still superior to the mice skittering past his feet. He had been too focused on his wants. He was overdue for a century of focusing on his spiritual needs. He already had one high maintenance friend. He didn't need two. 

Bobby tucked away into a dark corner, Daken set about another day of happy coincidences. 

“Good morning,” Daken said to the busy kitchen. “Why are we all up and running? Mission?”

Of all the things Daken had agreed to do, joining the Avengers on patrol wasn't one of them. The Juggernaut himself could have come charging through the door and he would offer them no assistance. Perhaps he would stop Johnny from being swung into a wall, but no more. Word on the street already suggested he was getting soft, he didn't need anyone saying he was feeling  _ heroic _ too. 

The Avengers were a horde of busy bees buzzing about the kitchen. The place was well designed for a crowd, giving them space without bumping into each other. Wanda and Jericho stacked and organized sliders onto trays. Rogue ducked to taste the sauce on her wooden spoon in time to miss the magicked plate flying overhead. Daken could never get close enough to Synapse without Quicksilver vibrating three inches behind him, and watching her prepare fresh lemonade was not the exception. He made sure to wink at the white-haired man and shove him hard with his shoulder. Prick. He had other things to hold his attention, like Cable punishing a modestly sized ball of dough with his fists, or Johnny standing anxiously by the French toast.  Deadpool sat on the counter with shorts that cut too high up his scarred thighs for comfort. He was the only idle one, lap full of cereal boxes, shoving his hand into each bag and pouring fistfuls of corn flakes and marshmallows into his mouth. 

“We're having a playdate.” Wade crunched. 

Rogue snorted and cleaned off her hands on her apron. She looked the most comfortable in the kitchen, like a Southern belle who would deeply resent him if he gave that thought voice.

“We're doin’ some trainin’ exercises with another team. Long time comin’.”

Daken hopped up on the counter next to Wade and helped himself to one of Jericho’s fluffy biscuits with butter. 

“It's nice to have an old friend for dinner.” Jericho said with a lilt in his voice, a reference Daken could sink his teeth into. He crossed his legs and leaned back, taking a small bite out of his biscuit. 

“Are we cannibalizing these friends? Great idea.” He licked butter out of the corner of his mouth. “I'll be Clarice, Doctor.”

A cold glass of orange juice bumped into his cheek. He took the drink and bowed gracefully to Wanda’s playfully stern stare behind Jericho’s shoulder. He caught Johnny’s attention as he took a pause from stressing over the already burnt toast to give him a thumbs up.

Yes, Johnny was quite happy with Daken. He was overjoyed Daken made friendly with the Avengers, and not at all like he was trying to lull their senses long enough to eat them. He had found his place among them. 

Daken was a mascot. A momentary amusement. The class clown. He was a 90s sitcom protagonist getting into wacky but lovable antics. They weren't afraid of him. He knew how to kill them all. He could do it right now. The threat he posed to them had been diminished until he was as easily accepted as Pietro and his misgivings. 

Daken smiled.  _ Disgusting _ . 

“Which friends are we eating today?” He asked, half distracted in procuring bits of bacon to add to his breakfast.

“Wade! You're getting crumbs all over the floor. You're going to have to clean that up before anyone gets here.” 

Rogue and Wade slipped into an argument about the benefits of cleaning something that would just get dirty again. Daken tuned them out. He watched Cable push something into a food processor and walk past him to get something from the fridge. Daken held his hand out in front of him before he could make it through. 

“May I have some help from the gentleman getting off?” The counter, that is. 

Cable gave him a one-eyed once over and went around his hand. 

“Hope you twist something coming down.” Cable wished for him in place of assistance. Such a mountain of a man, wasted baking cookies. He had arms like his father, and a wrinkled brow like his father, and the same gruff, no-nonsense air as his father. Daken would kill him first, claws through his eye, if it came to it.

“Daken, wanna help?” Rogue called from the kitchen door.

“I would most assuredly despise to.” Daken bubbled brightly. He downed the rest of his orange juice before Rogue could come tug him off the counter by his pockets. She was absurdly strong for a mutant her size. It was almost attractive enough to ignore the rest of her, and the juice she’d spilled down his chest. 

“You could just say no.”

“No.” said Daken.

“I invoke my right to tell everybody under this roof what to do and when to do it, whether they like it or not. Everybody good with that say aye.”

_ Aye  _ echoed around the kitchen. Pietro even sped in briefly from wherever he had been running back and forth from to make it that much more of a landslide against him. To Daken’s understanding, they were missing two young women to make it a full house vote against him, but he didn’t have the status around there to ask for a recount. He let Rogue drag him away by his belt loops. 

“You were standin’ around doin’ nothin’, so you might as well make yourself useful doin’ somethin’ else.” Rogue said when they were far enough down the hall Daken was not likely to slip out of her grip and run back to the kitchen. “Or knowing Pietro, he’ll just tell you to sit down and do nothin’ out of his way, at least. Which is just as good for everyone.” 

Daken didn’t bother asking where she was taking him. Not knowing was part of the adventure. He’d already explored most of the mansion on his own, marking down exits and the armory just in case. Nothing in this house that could kill him before he could kill them first. 

“I guess you and Bobby haven’t patched things up since you’re still here.”

He rolled his eyes. That was Rogue’s version of slipping a heavy topic into casual conversation. It was a good thing Daken didn’t consider his relationship with Bobby a worrisome subject. “There’s nothing to patch up.”

“Right. Just a couple of months of chemistry down the drain. No big deal for you. Bet you get flings like that all the time with that personality.” She taunted.

“A bet that would earn you some easy money.”

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and Daken nearly bumped into her side. She rolled back her shoulders to shake him off and stood ramrod straight, chin raised. Her nose crinkled unhappily.  

“I hope you mean that, and I hope Bobby feels the same way. Because if I find out you hurt him, really hurt him, I’ll show you a couple hundred things being an X-Man taught me about killing Wolverines.” 

She opened the door. Rogue led him out of the house and into the veranda. It was an oppressively hot morning, the birds had yet to quiet down from their dawn recital, and a purple-white blur sped across the green grass carrying colorful blocks and structures to either side of the patio. Building obstacle courses, Daken noted, and a trampoline in the center, across the pool. The water shimmered with the morning light, a leaf sitting atop the water disappeared before Daken had a chance to think about it. Pietro stopped in front of them as they descended the stairs leading down to the stone path, he carried a folded table in one hand like a suitcase. A single drop of sweat shaped the curve of his brow.

“Nobody’s supposed to be out here.” He grunted. “It slows me down.”

“That’s alright. Daken isn’t here to help. That’d be asking too much a him.” 

Rogue laughed at her own joke and hit Daken hard on the back, sending him one step forward with the force of it. She rubbed her hands together and looked between Pietro and Daken before waving on her way out. 

“Have fun!” 

Neither of them flinched when the door slammed hard enough to make the hinges rattle. Pietro fixed him with a bored stare. 

“What did you do to get her like that?” 

Daken grinned. “She thinks I broke her friend’s heart.”

“Did you?”

“It remains to be seen.”

Pietro thought that was good enough to warrant a nod. He rocked on his feet and stared at the door into the mansion thoughtfully. 

“I suppose we’re all allowed a bit of hypocrisy. Don’t get in my way.” 

He did the Quicksilver thing and disappeared back into his task. It was just as well, an enticing patch of shade over by one of the pool seats called Daken’s name. It was a quiet place to rest where he wouldn’t roast under the sun. Pietro was a first-rate partner, he didn’t bother Daken and they put each other out of sight and out of mind as quickly as they could manage. He wouldn’t stick his pretty nose where it didn’t belong, a man who could mind his own business. 

In Rogue’s mind, did she draw a parallel between Gambit and Daken, or between herself and Daken? The latter, most likely. She carried guilt around like a physical weight. Daken would not help her bear her burden. No one in this house knew what they were talking about, least of all Rogue. She probably thought Daken had lost a really good thing and hadn’t realized it yet. 

Daken knew everything. 

He kicked the pool seat flat. He borrowed a cushion from a basket-shaped seat beside the trampoline and lied down on his belly with his head away from the mansion. With one arm over the edge of the seat, resting against the warm alabaster, he fell asleep. 

=

Daken woke up slowly. He adjusted to the sounds of chitchat filling the patio and guessed he’d been sleeping for an hour. Unfamiliar scents mingled with that of the Avengers, the source of his unrest. Their guests had arrived, he had no reason to feel threatened, only alert. Roasting meat and barbecue sauce rumbled his stomach. He shifted on the seat, turning his head towards the smell with a happy sound. 

A couple of feet away on a second pool seat sat a blonde boy. Like a motion detector, he looked Daken as soon as he’d rearranged his position. He sat up straight, wiping his hand on his t-shirt. 

“Hi.” Said the boy. Daken gave him a two-finger salute over his head. He didn’t give the boy’s swept back hair too much thought, even if the familiarity of it irked him. The world was still hazy, and he was operating on hunger. He scratched the sleep-soft skin of his chest, rubbed at the pillow marks on his cheek. 

“Jimmy Hudson. With the X-Men: Blue.” He continued. He offered Daken his hand and he took it in a long, hard shake.  _ X-Men  _ woke Daken up a little more. He mumbled under his breath. Johnny had something planned after all. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and worked his legs leisurely over the side of the pool seat so he could get a good look at Jimmy Hudson.

“Daken. No affiliation.” He squinted. 

“I know.” The boy stammered. He fingered the frayed edge of his collar and chuckled awkwardly, like someone unused to laughter. “I’m-- I’m. It’s nice to meet you, I mean. Nice to meet another Wolverine.”

“Another?” Daken prompted half-heartedly. He recognized the hair now. Fanboy-ishly creepy, but just on the side of endearing. It wasn’t worth biting his head off for. 

Claws sprouted from the hand he’d shaken. Three. From the knuckles. The sight struck him like an anvil to the chest. Jimmy was explaining something about his father, and an alternate timeline, but Daken had only needed to hear Logan’s name before he stopped listening. 

He searched the child’s face and wondered how he could have been so  _ stupid  _ to miss it.

Daken wore his mother’s face with pride. He’d inherited the elegant cut of her cheekbones and the straight bridge of her nose. Her thick lashes darkened the curve of his eyes. He never knew the finer details of her skin, but he liked to think the three beauty marks like Orion’s belt in the space above his ear were her’s in some way. He was his mother’s memory, the universe’s last desperate attempt at preserving her life.

Jimmy Hudson’s face was the universe spitting in his eye. 

He would not wax poetic about his resemblance to Logan. He looked like the man, full stop. 

Jimmy couldn’t help that, the genetic resemblance wasn’t his fault. Daken held him accountable for the offense anyway. 

Something in Daken’s face retracted Jimmy’s claws. His voice wobbled through another sentence, walking back the details he’d shared about himself. He didn’t remember his father. He hadn’t been on this Earth when Daken’s Logan was alive. The Old Man had made an impression, but it hadn’t been a pleasant one. He didn’t think Jimmy calling him  _ pops  _ was funny. 

Daken stood up and Jimmy shrunk back in his seat. He wasn’t afraid, per se, but he was accustomed to making himself small in the face of a threat. Daken’s face twisted into a sneer. He opened his mouth to say something that would deter Jimmy Hudson from ever trying to make his acquaintance again when he spotted him. 

Small and light like the first snow of the season. Cut out of ice with the hands of a child artist, oblivious to what he was supposed to look like, or unskilled enough to refine it. He lacked the resemblance to Roman statues and the attention to detail Daken had become accustomed to. 

The X-Men: Blue. The time-displaced brats. The original five. The little Bobby Daken had truly given zero thought to. He was standing there between the boy scout and the redhead. He couldn't have been older than fifteen. 

It gutted Daken like a serrated knife. At his age,  _ Jimmy’s age,  _ Daken was still learning what sounds men made when he flayed their flesh off in ribbons. If this was Johnny’s idea of a joke, Daken would make sure to laugh before he opened him from throat to navel.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, fists tight enough for the ends of his claws to raise his skin without breaking through. A vein in his throat pulsed dizzyingly fast. It was funny. It was very funny. It was cute. Johnny probably intended for him to take one look at the small, unthreatening, teenaged Bobby and his tiny row of tiny teeth and let it warm the cockles of his heart. It would give him an excuse to call his older self. He could see that going well:

_ Hi, Bobby. I met you, pocket-sized you. Did you know at his age I hammered nails through the tips of a man’s fingers and laughed?  _

Daken laughed. Vindication tasted like syrup. His body relaxed one muscle at a time. This Bobby was young, his moral compass barely evolved past what the pages of storybooks had taught him. He would understand Daken in ways his older, jaded self had become impervious to.  _ That  _ would be something worth calling Bobby about. Daken tilted his head towards his new, blonde friend, who had suddenly become boundlessly interesting.

“How would you like to play one of these games, Jimmy?” He gestured at an obstacle course. “A contest, of sorts. You can show me what you know and I’ll show you what I know. From one Wolverine to another.”

Jimmy gave him a startled smile. “I-- We have something like it at the base... Yeah, I’d be up for it. Yeah.”

Daken bared his teeth. It didn’t work as a smile, but it put Jimmy’s heart at ease. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO JIMMY'S WILL BE ACTUALLY HURT IN THE MAKING OF AT FROST GLANCE I PROMISE EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. I AM NOT REMENDER.


	11. Jimmy Hudson Dodges a Bullet (Not Literally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another look at Daken's many issues, but this time with some conflict resolution.

Daken waited for the alignment of the planets to be just right with an arm over Jimmy’s shoulders. Johnny, Wanda, and Rogue were inside the house, the stars most likely to meddle, and the rest of the Avengers were too busy rocketing around the patio or stuffing their faces to notice a man they’d assumed to be asleep not ten minutes ago. Someone might have wondered why Daken was being so friendly with one of their guests if they just looked a little closer. He wouldn't allow that. Daken steered Jimmy towards the obstacle course.

“Adamantium claws. That must have been quite the experience.” Daken noted.

“Huh? Oh, no.” Jimmy’s claws peeked through his fingers. “My body generates that metal. It wasn't… Forced on me. Pretty sure it's not adamantium either.”

Adamantium claws with none of the melodrama. Jimmy Hudson had won the genetic lotto. Daken wondered if Logan would be disgusted to have passed down his adamantium skeleton to one of his children, if he would despise the pup or abandon it. Maybe.

He was a sweet boy, odd for a Wolverine, though Gabby had changed his mind to that effect. He wasn’t comfortable with Daken touching him so freely but he wasn’t keen on denying affection from the brother he wanted to have. Daken’s pheromones took care of ensuring he would not pick up on any malicious intent. A threat like him would register on his radar.

He wasn’t going to hurt the boy. Not much, anyway.

The obstacle course was intended to be a simple pleasure, difficult for the average man but a stroll in the woods for the well-trained superheroes inhabiting the Avengers mansion and their mutant guests. It had room for vaulting, sliding, and dodging. Getting through it wouldn’t be the challenge, the obstacles weren’t the point, the speed at which they got through it would determine the winner. Daken told Jimmy as much.

“Do you have adamantium in all your bones?” Daken asked.

“It’s some kind of metal coating,” Jimmy said. His insistence it was not adamantium was filed away for later. “But I am not _heavy_ like Wolverine if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He grinned. That’s precisely what Daken had been worried about. It was already an unfair match, it wouldn’t be kind to make it harder if Jimmy was weighed down by his bones. He shook the blonde boy.

“This should be fun.”

He shoved the boy towards the starting line. The course was designed for two for a reason, friendly competition was encouraged. Daken had nothing remotely _friendly_ in mind. It wasn’t about the course or the race, even if he would win, it was about drawing enough eyes to them for what he’d planned for the end. His _little brother_ was owed a lesson, up close and personal, on the extent of Daken’s loyalty to his blood kin.

The air smelled like fear, not Jimmy’s but from Johnny back in the veranda. It cut through the chill of the afternoon. Daken’s face opened into a grin. Little Bobby’s presence had been planned, Daken’s estranged brother’s hadn’t been. Johnny called out his name,setting him off like gunfire and Jimmy fast behind.

It was a thoughtless exercise, Daken’s reflexes did all the work. Romulus considered simulations a waste of time, he favored hands-on experience on the field where Daken could get his hands bloody. He learned to climb with his fingers against the jagged edges of rock and higher up on the trees that grew from cracks in the ground. Theft taught him how to check a building for all the exits before sneaking inside, how to get away in the event he was caught. He learned how men died while hugging the back of Romulus leg until he was shoved forward, to appraise the damage and know how to replicate it.

His body did what was required of it as fast as it allowed. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy was the same— _too close_ to exactly the same.

They moved like silk banners fluttering to the caprice of the wind. Different height, shape, and color but sinking and rising in league with one another. Every movement simultaneous, instinctual. Daken stretched the truth. Jimmy was a child, the flow of his body was unrefined, he could not hope to match Daken’s advance to a T. Everything he did was half a second late because just as Daken watched Jimmy, Jimmy watched him.

He was… mimicking him. He would lose this race by remaining always a beat behind and he didn’t care. Daken wanted to win, Jimmy wanted to learn.

Daken unsheathed his claws, broke through his side of the course, and barreled into the boy by slamming his shoulder into his ribcage. He’d wanted to extend an invitation to a friendly spar that would turn dirty when all eyes were on them. He wiped that idea, rewrote it as he went. He’d warned his character was volatile when it came to family. If Jimmy was interested in a demonstration, Daken would give him a very _good_ one.

He got a glimpse of the stunned, frightened look on Jimmy’s face before he lifted his claws to drive them into him.

Daken didn’t get a chance to stab his brother. 

A force of nature blasted him into the fence at his back. Jimmy disappeared from his line of sight, replaced by a rush of air. His torso took the brunt of the blow, he flipped, landing legs up against the wood. Hard-packed dirt rattled his brain inside his skull until his thoughts dissipated like the air in his lungs. Daken coughed hard. Snow stuck his hair over his eyes, it frosted the skin of his ribs. He craned his head back to look at his assailant.

“What is _wrong_ with you?!”

High and grating like a whistle or the cries of baby birds early in the morning, little Bobby’s voice pierced between his eyes and settled like a headache for reasons other than his pitch. Knelt on the ground beside him, he held a bewildered Jimmy, crushing his head against his chest while the boy pawed at his arms. His anger was the consistency of mousse, too soft to stand against Daken, but holding fast, set in its ways. One of his hands grasped towards him, ready to send another whirlwind of snow and ice if he tried to attack his teammate again. Daken pushed off the wall and rolled back onto the plants of his feet. He gave little Bobby a sharp look over his shoulder. The boy quivered once, briefly, and his resolve doubled.

“Many things” Daken conceded, impressed to some extent that the boy hadn't backed off. He rose to his feet.

Johnny’s hand embedded in his chest when he weaved around to face little Bobby and the gathering crowd of little X-Men. They were quick to join their young friend, Phoenix and Cyclops stood under the Angel’s fire-wings, covering Iceman's back. The Avengers rounded the scene, unsure how to proceed but certain they would not be taking _Daken’s_ side in this, they kept a careful distance from him and the Torch, the only wild card they needed to account for if this went south and turned into a wholesale fight.  

“Hey! Hey!” Jimmy finally freed himself. “What’s the problem?”

He dusted off his pants and raised his hands to pacify both sides of the patio, particularly the half that outnumbered Daken ten to one. He squinted at his shorter teammate, confusion set between his brows. He was easier to look at than Johnny was with fire flickering in the whites of his eyes. Whatever turn this took, Daken would not get away from facing that fire this very day.

“Why does everyone here look like they’re about to kill him?”

He disturbed the rabble out of their silence. All the X-Men started talking at the same time, the Avengers whispered amongst themselves. Daken stood in the middle like a man on trial, liking his odds less by the second. Wanda swept in, she managed to get a hand on Jimmy’s arm and lowered it back to his side. Waving his claws around wasn’t going to calm any nerves.

“He was going to cut your head off!” Bobby yelled. “Clean off!”

“He wasn’t!” Jimmy protested. Daken couldn’t believe so much stupidity could fit into one body. “I swear. It’s just… You have a physical mutation, Bobby. You know what it’s like. Sometimes you just look threatening. Daken and I… We were just playfighting.”

Jimmy looked at him. His eyes were bright and alert, perceptive, Jimmy Hudson was nowhere near as stupid as he had been led to believe. What he was doing, redirecting the conversation to _mutations_ , advancing without fear into Daken’s space, it was deliberate. He cocked his head to one side.

“Isn’t that right, Daken?”

Jimmy knew he had had every intention to cut him. He knew he hadn’t told Daken whether Wolverine’s healing factor was part of their shared mutation. When he locked eyes with Daken with everyone on the patio at his back, his face softened to a private look of understanding.

His father’s face.

Daken was so _fucking_ tired of being understood.

He intended to get Johnny to shove off and exit stage left spitting crude Japanese insults, but Johnny pushed him before he could. Daken was shocked pliant. The blonde man led him away from the others at double pace, hooking him by the elbow. Jimmy tried to say something, stepped in line to follow them, but the X-Men blocked his path.

Johnny wrangled him out of the yard by a little door on the fence. He closed it tightly behind them. The walk some ways away, where the enhanced mutants in the patio could not hear them, took long enough to wake Daken out of his stupor. He gathered his bearings and seized away from Johnny.

“I'm sorry.” Johnny began, not noticing or not caring for Daken wrestling them apart. “I'm sorry I put you in this position. I would never have let today happen if I knew Jimmy was your brother. I messed up.”

“That you did.” Daken said, self-satisfied with the admission. It was a good day when Daken wasn’t completely to blame for his own misfortune. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Johnny stood towards the street. He held the back of his head in his hands and sighed. The fire Daken had expected to burn him to a crisp drowned bit by bit.

“Daken, you have never owed me anything and never will, but I need you to know how hard it is to be your friend.”

It caught in his throat like an apple core. Johnny was quiet, tired, and self-pitying. He had the look of a man who did not expect to be heard. Between the wall he chose to face and Daken he knew which of the two would be more receptive to what he had to say.

“You do all these stupid, indefensible things. And I'm supposed to, what? Defend you anyway? On what grounds? With what conviction?” The flame previously reduced to crackling ashes spat upwards as if from the mouth of a dragon. Johnny’s fingers dug into his hair, furious and frustrated. He lacked focus, it made him less frightening than when his fire was muted. “Do you even want me to defend you?! Do you want ANYONE’S help?!”  

“No.” Daken voiced flatly.

“Rhetorical fucking question, asshole!” It was rare for Johnny to curse, rare enough to treasure on any other occasion. Daken was once again flabbergasted, left to scoff and posture, tightening his hands into fists while Johnny’s hair burned. “You do! You want people to care about you! That's why you keep to your family, who has to care about you, and to suckers who—" An earthquake ripped through his chords, breaking his words into whines. “Who love you. Like me. Like Bobby.”

Daken could burn too, if not as literally.

“Love?! You would speak to me of love?!” He thrust his hand in the direction of Avengers mansion. “You saw the way he looked at me! Like I was a monster looking to tear his friend apart and clean my teeth with his bones.”

“The way I saw it, that Bobby was looking out for his Wolverine.” Johnny tapped his temple. “Something to think about.”

Daken sputtered. “That doesn't make any sense! Bobby already has a Wolverine! We've never even been on the same team—”

“Don't— Don’t yell at me!”

“I am not yelling!” They yelled.

Johnny rubbed his knuckles over his eyes. He scuffed his shoe on the dirty street.

“You should have gone to see Laura. Things wouldn’t have muddled like they did with me.”

“I have no interest in speaking to Laura. Not after what she did—"

“Get over yourself!” Johnny spat. “You know Laura didn't tell Bobby anything. You would have gone to scream at HER if you thought your little theory had any actual basis in reality. Instead, you agreed to hide here, where she couldn't force you to face the truth because you have feelings for Bobby and it scares the hell out of you!”

There was nothing Daken could say in response, not because Johnny was right, but because he had convinced himself he was. He scoffed instead, tossing his hair back and ridiculing the notion with a flick of his wrist. Johnny let out a frustrated sound, burning through the insides of his arms until he shook off the flames like a dog might water. His lip curled around a grimance he managed to make look like a pout.

“Do all of us a favor and make up with Bobby before you actually kill anyone.”

He had to remember Johnny was more fragile than himself. He had an abundance of empathy and nowhere to dump it except on Daken's unwanting lap. Daken bit the inside of his cheek as to not fuel the embers. He could understand how other people could overestimate the strength of his relationship with Bobby, but Johnny should know better, he of all people should pick up on Daken’s _ruse_.

What he had with Johnny, in all fairness… hadn’t been all tricks.

He was only capable of _loving_ men and women of his ilk. Mystique. Bullseye. Predators for whom love was defined as the desire to consume. What he felt for Bobby was not love. It wasn’t hunger, pure and simple, it was the fascination of a collector. Daken liked him pristine, untouched, preserved for all eternity. A precious bird observed from afar, for which a cage was out of the question because his luster would fade tied down to a man like Daken, who had nothing to offer but the blood on his hands. Sometimes he would fly close, stay a while, and flutter back to his nest, testing the skies but preferring the familiarity of home. Bobby had his devotion, in his arms he would have shelter, from his heart he would endure no darkness, these things were different from love.

Daken held this as fact. Thinking about it felt unnecessary, defamiliarizing. There was no need to _explain_ it. Blood pumped through him, it didn’t need to understand the why, it just needed to keep him alive.

Except Daken hadn’t done his job. His devotion had turned foul. He had in the past, many times, hurt those precious to him in order to protect them. It was easy to poke holes in that sentiment, but it always carried across to the desired result. During the war he kept Mystique and Johnny safe by faking a quick and bloody death. Even Bullseye had benefitted from severing the ties of their liaison before their love became an ouroboros, before the snake devoured itself.

Bobby's ice was the perfect mirror. He never hesitated to say the things about Daken he found hard to swallow, or what he actually liked about him. He would not budge to Daken's needling, it was always what _Bobby_ wanted first and foremost. He held the light long enough to paint a picture, but Daken's company would not define him. Daken liked what he saw in himself when he was with Bobby. Showing him more was a natural response.

What he’d done to Bobby in the Danger Room hadn’t been for his own good. It wasn’t righteous sacrifice. Daken was more hotheaded than Johnny on an average day, and he’d been caught painfully off his game. There were things more plausible in the world than Laura sharing secrets that were not her’s to give, the spontaneous combustion of the entire universe rang likelier. He had entrusted himself to Laura, and his secrets would find no safer home than her respect for his privacy. What Bobby knew, he had figured out by himself, because Daken had shared too much too quickly and hadn’t noticed.

In simpler terms, Daken was a fucking dumbass.

Daken’s fists unclenched. There was a tiny sliver of a chance Johnny might not be _entirely_ wrong.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” He grouched, it felt like a mouthful of thumbtacks.

His change of heart surprised Johnny. He pounced on it viciously, holding Daken’s face in his hands like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to smack him, strangle him, or hug him. He herded him back to the path towards the mansion, Daken stopped him from tripping backwards over a fire hydrant and instantly regretted his decision.

“You’ve got an opportunity to practice.”

“Practice?” Daken made a face and looked towards Johnny’s home. He didn’t want their conversation to be overheard, even if they were still out of range. “I can’t apologize to Jimmy. I don’t want to  _and_ it would be an insult. You saw what he did there. I respect his idiotic decision to place family over self.”

“Not Jimmy.” Johnny grinned dangerously.

Johnny’s grin went like a bullet through nitroglycerin. It set off Daken’s most calamitous impulses to nod along and do everything he said. He was familiar with this effect. Johnny was oblivious to his power so he could not abuse it, and every once in a while Daken could indulge in his fancies. He shook his head stubbornly and incessantly. He didn’t even have to say what he wanted, so in sync were their respective psyches when it came to things Daken was _never, ever going to do._

= 

 _Cursed_ Johnny and his _cursed_ friendship.

Five hundred feet later and a great deal of coaxing from Johnny had the X-Men: Blue and Daken standing face to face yet again. The Avengers did a poor job of pretending they weren’t listening in. Janet nearly spilled her soda over her chest while trying to hide her face behind her cup. Rogue had invited herself into the conversation as her one condition to allowing Daken anywhere near their guests again. Her foot tapped the cobblestone walkway impatiently. Johnny bumped his shoulder into Daken’s spine, pushing him to get on with it.

“It has come to my attention I might have scared you while I was…” He looked at Jimmy. “Playfighting with your friend.”

The little Bobby fiddled with his knuckles. He swiped stray strands of hair from his forehead like a nervous habit. Like Johnny, the inside of his arms were most vulnerable to shifts when he was under emotional stress. He kept looking at Jean and Scott like they could possibly protect him from the force of _words_ , worst of all, the two of them looked like they might try for his sake. Mushy. Daken was going to be sick. Jimmy was somewhere between confused and cautiously optimistic. Warren hovered over Bobby with uncertainty, tilting to and fro to find his face when he ducked his head.

It was cute, he supposed. Now that none of them were in fight mode, the bite sized X-Men were scraggly and insignificant. Daken expected to have to wipe their noses any moment, but they weren’t worth beating into the ground.

“I am at odds with your older self at the moment. Repercussions from that have extended further than I intended them to. My behavior stems from that. I will strive to rectify it.” He admitted rigidly for the entire patio to hear. “But he can withstand my antagonism in full bloom, while you cannot. In the future, you can be sure this incident will not repeat itself.”

He bowed his head just so, his word was never his bond, but as of then and there he could not see himself breaking that promise, and Daken could see everything. He threw a glance around the patio that sent everyone rushing to find something to do with their hands to disguise how intently they had been listening. Johnny’s smile was so bright as to warm the back of his neck, paired with little Bobby’s eyes now actually _looking_ at him, big, brown, and round, it made something proud fluff up in his chest.

“I expect that was enough to satisfy everyone here.” He held Rogue’s eyes in particular.

Jean and Scott placed their hands on Bobby’s shoulders in a curiously synchronized gesture. Like Johnny at Daken’s back, they roused him to say something, distinctly _without_ the forcefulness Daken’s fiery fiend had to apply to twist his arm. Bobby craned his head back to look at him.

“Do you, like, want help?”

“Help?” Daken repeated haltingly. He looked at Johnny over his shoulder and the man simply shrugged. “Help with what?”

“With,” Bobby put air quotes over his head. “'Rectifying' things with my older self. I do know a thing or two about the guy after all.”

He regretted, suddenly and violently, having this conversation in public. If the non-apology apology had not bared Daken’s soul enough to a yard full of practical strangers, then the way he closed in, quiet as a mouse, not deep in thought but stunned into silence… It would do the trick. The offer sat like a cloying taste on his tongue. He struggled not to swallow. He couldn’t even say the little Bobby had made it in earnest, he was reluctant at best, but that he’d said it at _all_ enveloped Daken in a sweet, most definitely toxic haze.

Asking the little Bobby for assistance with his older self would secure a quick recovery. They could start from where they left off and forget what had happened in between. It was practically cheating and, given how he’d reacted to the possibility Bobby had had a similar arrangement with Laura, it would make him the worst kind of hypocrite, but Daken was already used to being the worst anyway.

“No.” He said, somehow stiffer. The creaking, robotic sounds coming from his joints were strictly in his head. “Thank you. I know a thing or two about him… too.”

Little Bobby was much less affected by what had just transpired. He shrugged it off. It functioned almost too perfectly as a model for the relationship Daken had with his own Iceman. Their texts, half-dates, and fleeting touches left him reeling, excited for the next instance. Bobby stayed the same, no less willing to engage him but always, _always_ holding the upper hand between them, because _he_ didn’t have any impossible feelings for Daken to muddy the waters.

He took a breath so cold that it hurt, and put it out of his mind while he still could. He liked what he had with Bobby, he would continue to take advantage of it, this time without questioning what he got from him, or _why_ the other man was giving it, too much. X-Men were thankless heroes, were they not? It was enough.

In any case, there were other things that needed doing before he tackled the problem that was the Bobby-shaped void in his life.

“There is something you could do for me.” He said, addressing the X-Men as a group. Johnny and he had worked through some key points Daken should bring up in his non-apology and this hadn't been part of it. Daken made up for the things he did in actions, not in hot air. Rogue took a step closer without any of the blonde’s trust and fully prepared to stuff a sock in Daken’s mouth if she didn’t like what she heard. “I am going to see Laura now…”

He fished his car keys out of his back pocket and held them directly in Jimmy’s line of sight in time to see the boy’s eyes and mouth grow wide and happy.

“I think she would be delighted if you joined me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect our hero to return next chapter! see ya snoflakes.


	12. As Far as it Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hannukah.

On the first day of Hanukkah, it snowed in New York. Ororo stood on the balcony, cocoa in hand and eyes glazed, and ushered the storm away. Snow fell soft and fluffy over Central Park, thick as to cover the trees. Nothing would dampen the excitement of the younger mutants playing outside. Laughter permeated every corner of the house. Blue, white, yellow, red and green sweaters flashed in and out of the kitchen door and eager, small hands reached for either hot drinks or mittens so fast Bobby would get confused as to which he was expected to surrender.

“Look! It's my first!”

Zach pushed through the kitchen’s decorative saloon doors and brandished his phone in Bobby’s face. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and steadied his hand so he could get a better look at the picture.

“Why doesn't he have a proper head?” He asked about the tiny, lumpy snowman with only two round piles of snow and a top hat to make up his body.

The boy jazzed his fingers. They stuck out of his gloves like frozen hot dogs. “My hands got numb.”

Bobby threw his head back and laughed. He sent Zach back outside with a thermos and gloves that weren't fingerless. He protested the candy-cane pattern but Bobby wouldn't take no for an answer. There would be no headless snowmen in the Iceman’s watch.

No time was safe in the X-Men mansion, but the holiday season was the most hectic of all. After the decimation, it was rare for students to leave school grounds in summer or during breaks. The children attending Jean Grey’s were outcasts, they wouldn't be safe anywhere but home. X’ian kept a close eye on her charges and hardly ever needed to warn them away from crowds of onlookers. They were young, not naive. They'd already learned to mistrust the world of average men. The humans would come to Central Park to enjoy Ororo’s gentle snow day, but they would hold their own children tight and keep them from wandering too close to the freaks. The monstrous mutant children, so dangerous they had created a system to telekinetically help each other reach the monkey bars.

In an act of goodwill, Kitty invited everyone they knew and hadn’t tried to kill this year to converge the holiday season into one big celebration. The X-Men had a reputation to uphold, they threw the greatest parties in the tri-state area, maybe even the world. She and Bobby had picked the date on Macaroni Night, admittedly while exceptionally drunk, and woken up with a hangover and a surprisingly coherent folder strewn open across their laps labeled Party Planning.

They decorated the mansion with the help of the students. They brought out long forgotten trinkets from the mansion’s many storage closets: train sets and dreidels that turned to floating spaceships in the hands of their superpowered prodigies. They would not rest until the place looked like a cheesy postcard. Lights, banners, glitter, and artificial snow, anything to make the windows bright enough to catch the Guardians’ eyes in space. Kitty and Bobby argued on how many menorahs were too many menorahs for what was technically one big house divided into different wings, and they were arguing still when the first of their guests walked through the front doors.

As Kitty’s _Partner in Planning_ , and because he had drunk dialed half the people on their phone lists to invite them already, Bobby was in charge of food. Simple, right? Other people had two and three tasks under their belt. How difficult could it be to arrange for catering such an event?

Very, very difficult, it turned out. Bobby’s go-to man for cooking fast and cooking well was halfway across the country. Much closer than his home in New Orleans, but no more available to help Bobby wrangle sufficient food for their guests. Pietro had RSVP’d and helpfully offered no explanation when Bobby asked after his husband’s absence. Remy wouldn't be making it. He sent his regards and his box of recipes. Ororo of all people came through with an answer: Remy, Lucas, Betsy, and Warren were in one of their bases in the Midwest dealing with a problem they weren't discussing. When pressed, Pietro and Ororo's responses were their tightlipped, they warned Bobby had stumbled upon a minefield and he best watch his step.

“Will she be back for New Year’s?” He asked, playing it safe. 

Ororo’s spoon clinked sharply against the sides of her mug as she stirred in more sugar. She brought it up to her mouth and cleaned it with a pop. The marshmallows circled and sank into the center of the whirlpool.

“Warren needs her." She answered a different question, one asked in private by her reflection in the warm tones of cocoa. She hadn't looked Bobby in the eye. Ororo drifted away with her chin held high and a smile that would not betray her. No one else would notice the one stormcloud over her head she could not control.

The decorations, the feast Bobby had managed to procure, and the friends he was eager to see were not enough to get his mind off Daken.

The man hadn't become a fixation. For the first two nights, he sulked. He rubbed the palms of his hands over the fat tears dirtying his face until he was red and raw. Bobby curled up in bed. He decided he would never move again in his life. That resolution lasted ten minutes before his boredom demanded to be sated. He knew because he turned to check his phone twice in as many minutes. Time and reality did not respect melodrama. He could not be sad forever, it would do him no good to fester in it. In the morning, Bobby moved on.

His mind wandered often and far. It made connections where there were none before. Daken would be unfairly warm in this weather. The stray cats that came into the kitchen and begged for food would take a liking to his heat. Dusty old bottles of champagne he and Kitty dug up from the basement put a smile on his face because they would put a sneer on Daken's. All roads lead back to Rome, all thoughtless tangents lead back to Daken. But Bobby had moved on.

The longer he dwelled on what had transpired between them, the stronger the hypocrisy of his emotions became apparent. Was he intolerant about Daken’s cruel actions only when they were directed at him? Did he have anyone to blame but himself for petting a wild wolf and being surprised when it bit him?

Yes! He blamed Daken! He was a person, a mosaic of oddities, but a person nonetheless. He had hurt Bobby’s feelings and if he didn't feel that more keenly than all the other crimes he had heard only stories about, there would be something wrong with him, logically. If he couldn't move on, the would be something wrong with him, definitely.

He fluctuated between those two extremes of self-reflection: break-up song's moral compass or channeling his inner Vulcan. Bobby couldn't give himself a break. 

If anyone suspected turmoil was unfolding, they didn't say. Betsy left without telling anyone what she had seen from her security post, and Bobby felt relieved, though he kicked himself for it. Ororo was hurting. The world did not revolve around his problems alone. His mind might wander back to Daken on occasion, but he didn't want to discuss it. He couldn't cut him out or excise him altogether. He wasn't petty enough to leave Laura’s name out of the stack of invitations, and she remained on the list even when she wrote down a suspicious number of plus-ones on her reply.

Bobby conjured up dream scenarios while braiding Kitty’s hair close to her scalp. He sat cross-legged on the couch and stared into the space Daken would occupy. He pictured worlds where Daken returned to the X-Mansion and pretended nothing had happened. Bobby didn't know whether he would be angry or disappointed if he would make a scene or quietly shut him down. In a moment of weakness, some of those Bobbys in their alternate worlds played along with Daken’s selective amnesia. Those Bobbys went in the metaphorical cupboard until they learned to respect themselves.

It was six o'clock when the first handful of guests arrived. At seven on the dot, the fashionably late came en masse. Bobby shook too many hands to count. Overstimulation pushed Daken out of Bobby’s overworked mind. He threw himself into the blur of social interaction until names and voices blended together in an eternal loop. So many famous faces, the superhero forums would have a field day. Dressed in colorful sweaters and tall boots, the X-Men’s superpowered friends filled the halls and forgot their troubles with a drink in hand and a plate of food in the other. Their home buzzed like a beehive, full to the brim with life. Voices and laughter occupied the corners usually reserved for moping. For one evening, they could drown their differences in liquor and bring out the best in all of them.

The monotony broke on faces he hadn't seen in what seemed like a million years. Rogue, no longer cooped up in her Avengers mansion, hugged Bobby so tight his ribs ached. Roberto and Sam came in arguing and stopped long enough to friction burn a hole in his cheek with their cold knuckles. Lorna touched his shoulder and promised him he’d be seeing more of her X-Factor. She dragged him towards the living room with an arm locked around his elbow. Bobby suspected she felt bad about not coming to see him in person sooner. He sat close to her on the couch, covered her hand with his, and hoped a small smile would be enough to calm her nerves.

“Are we cool, Bobby?” She asked over the music. Her brow pinched tightly, pointed down at the ground.

Bobby nudged her with his shoulder. “We were never uncool, Lorna.”

That was all very nice and festive, but X-Men parties weren't the type of thing you should invite your preacher to.

The children were banished to one side of the mansion after Kitty lit the menorah, with them went money for ridiculous amounts of pizza. Magik and She-Hulk stood on the coffee table and ignored the dangerous screeching of the wooden legs to smash beer cans into their heads and pour the fizz down their throats. He had to abandon his place beside Lorna on the couch when everyone sitting around the coffee table simultaneously decided to get too handsy with Matthew Murdock. 

Bobby stayed in the great hall where most of the action was. With so much to overwhelm the senses, no one would be interested in the man with the glass of cider curled up on the window-seat. Not when Thor was doing shots and push-ups simultaneously, Gamora and Angela sat astride his back. It was strange behavior for him, but he would not be partaking in the festivities. He watched his friends and drunk in their laughter at arm’s distance. A cold shoulder’s distance. He slipped into his ice form for comfort, kept his arm flush against the window and let the cold seep in through the glass. No one would ask uncomfortable questions. His sweater had lights in it! He was better off emotionally than most of the people in the room.

He nodded off at intervals. It was late in the night and the party had become background noise. He could no longer make out words, only indistinct sounds, familiar and comforting. The tips of his hardened hair scratched at the window as his head bobbed.

He felt his voice before he heard him. The low, rich vibrato rolled over him like thunder, silence followed in place of lightning.

“Bobby...” Daken whispered.

He looked up, saw Laura showing Gabby into the children’s rec room. He hadn't heard them come in and no one had thought to tell him Daken was with them. Why would they? No one knew what Daken was up to like Bobby. He had made the positives of their relationship public and kept their fallouts close to his chest. 

What he wanted the most was to see him. He was a solid presence behind him, waiting and unmoving. One glance at the window or over his shoulder and he would see him.

Bobby stood. The empty cider glass rolled off his thigh. Daken and Bobby reached for it at the same time before it could shatter against the wooden floors. His tattoo forced him back like a lashing snake, it coiled around his wrist over tan skin. Daken rescued the cider flute. His voice he could pretend not to have heard, but there was no avoiding this. He did not look at him, or anyone, and made a beeline for the stairs pretending he wasn't running. He climbed the steps fast like a billy goat. If he made enough noise to draw attention he was gone too fast to check.

He did not know why he ran. He didn't know how he managed to. He expected Daken's hand around his arm, fingers digging into his bicep before releasing like they did in the movies. He had never liked does movies. Where did one draw the line between clutching a lover tightly and stopping someone from struggling? 

His body took him to the one place no one would think to find him. Two left turns and straight down the hall. He jimmied the doorknob and pushed with his shoulder. Inside, he locked the door. His stomach sank. It wasn't his place. He unlocked it.

“I did the same thing.” Chimed a voice at his back.

For one horrible moment, he thought it was Daken again. The deep voice hit the mark, but the accent wasn't the same.

“Rictor?” He said out loud.

Julio Richter was not a man of many smiles, but he gave Bobby his best. He sat at the desk pushed against the room’s large windows. The soft curve of his jaw sharpened with stubble. His long hair pulled back from his face with a clip, a few stray strands damp on his forehead. Rictor couldn't be older than twenty-six but he had the air of someone years his senior. The near purple slices under his eyes aged him. A bow tie hung loosely around his neck over a light green dress shirt. Slacks and tapered dress shoes kicked up, a picture frame on his lap. Bobby had not seen him since the first civil war. He was a sight for sore eyes.

Rictor set the picture down and turned it to face Bobby. Scott and Jean smiled back at him on their wedding day. The rest of Scott’s things on the table were exactly as he'd left them two mansion reconstructions ago. Somehow his office had survived the test of time and wanton super-feuds after his death. Rictor ran his finger over the dust settled on the mahogany.

“No one comes in here anymore.” He said. Bobby winced. He wasn't wrong. “What are you hiding from, Bobby?”

Foolishness, mostly. He knew it would sound even more ridiculous out loud. Bobby bit his lip, he dragged his feet through the carpet and stopped to sit across Rictor.

“You'll laugh.” He admitted.

“I'll tell you mine, you'll tell me your’s, and then we can laugh at each other. Work for you?”

It was a worthwhile bargain. Some part of him wanted to refuse, but it was a whole lot easier to keep things to himself when no one was asking. Rictor was, and he wanted to tell him, just as he'd wanted to tell Ororo, and Lorna, and Kitty, and even Remy if he'd shown for dinner. He came forward onto his elbows and lowered his head to cup his hands over the back of his neck. Bobby nodded numbly. Rictor leaned back in the armchair, rolled until his feet were on the ground and then forward link his fingers together on the table.

“I didn't get the memo the X-Men still invited Maximoffs to their shindigs. Saw Quicksilver downstairs, scrammed.”

A normal enough reaction for any mutant who had suffered during the decimation. Bobby couldn't argue with that. However, there was something more… personal to Rictor’s story. He could tell in the way his voice went hoarse around Quicksilver’s callsign but not his last name.

“You have a history with Pietro?”

“You could say that.” Rictor unearthed a flask from his back pocket and brought it to his mouth before hesitating and offering it to Bobby first. It smelled strongly of whiskey. Bobby politely declined. “He was the first guy I slept with.”

He wished he’d accepted that drink, his throat was suddenly very dry. Bobby flattened his palms on the desk. “No!”

“Oh yeah.” Rictor grinned dully. “Right after the decimation.”

“But wasn’t he—”

“Kinda evil? For sure. Came into town wearing his ratty old uniform and a trenchcoat looking like he hadn’t seen a shower in weeks and some part of me thought… Yeah, I’d hit that.”

“Rictor!” He said, scandalized.

“Villains do it best.” Rictor flicked the back of Scott’s photo. “This guy knows what I’m talking about.”

Bobby’s cheer abated. Gallows humor was right down his alley, but it was harder to walk it when Jean and Scott were looking straight at him. Rictor accepted his silence, the raunchy banter dwindled to a quieter conversation.

“I was in a bad place. Quickie was nice to me, made me feel special. He kissed me, I kissed back. Things got crazy from there. _My boy_ , he called me. I would have bitten anyone else’s head off for trying that shit with me but he made it feel… I dunno. Right. Sweet.” Rictor clicked his tongue. His fingers danced across the dust, mimicking him and Pietro meeting, kissing, falling apart. His fingers curled into fists. “Turns out he was using me. I was okay with that until he tried to hurt someone else. I am hoping this doesn’t sound familiar to you right now, Bobby.”

It was a lot to digest. Rictor had been a fifteen year old once, running after girls, sneaking into their dorms, overcompensating for the attraction he was supposed to feel and didn't. With Pietro, it was about the attraction he felt and shouldn't. At least the wounds were not fresh, Rictor told it like he had come to terms with the past. Bobby listened in respectful silence until Rictor said his name. His serious eyes leveled him in place. Bobby was surprised, even when he shouldn’t be.

“You know about Daken.”

“I know stuff. Dunno if you’ve met a lot of gay people, but we’re pretty much all gossip.” He joked.

There was an answer on the tip of his tongue, but Bobby forced himself to stop and consider the possibility Rictor’s story was anything like what was happening between him and Daken. They fell together and overlapped. A so-called villain rolling into town, making himself welcome in his life. Someone to satisfy a hunger that was new and exciting, but scary in its own way. He could see how at first glance there might be similarities, but Bobby had lived it, he knew.

Daken had hurt him because this was new and scary for him too. He lashed out because it was the only thing he knew how to do. He was wired to self-destruct when things got too good to be true, and he knew what chords to strike to make the damage permanent. He had failed at that with Bobby. He could still think of him without his gut twisting. His name sent heat through his ice form like a lava lamp.

“No. It’s nothing like that with Daken. He’s bad… but he’s not bad for me.” He answered sheepishly. “Don’t know why I like the guy, honestly. Things are good, but they're also complicated. I don't do complicated.”

He didn’t look pleased, exactly, but Rictor was ready to take Bobby at his word. His eyes were less intense when he ran a hand over his face. He propped himself back casually, pointing at Bobby’s way with the flask in his hand.

"We're all fucking complicated. We might as well be that together." 

Bobby understood Rictor was more than a little drunk, but he got the gist of his message. He got up and slammed the back of the chair into the wall in determination. Bobby took the flask from him, not to drink, but because the guy was wobbling dangerously and he was a responsible adult.

“Glad I don't need to be worried about you, Iceman. If you’ll excuse me, Shatterstar’s on his way here and I gotta stop him from killing my ex.”

Bobby laughed. He stopped as soon as Rictor raised his index finger and made a noise in his throat. Oh. He was, like, serious. He was kind of glad he planned to stay in this room all night then.  

“I got these marks on my back from Quickie and— Long story. Gay gossip for another time. Gav is still new at jealousy.” Rictor swayed on his way to the door. Bobby thought maybe he was exaggerating for everyone’s sake. If Shatterstar was worried he might brain himself on a table corner, he would spend less time trying to choke Pietro Maximoff to death. He stopped with a foot in the door, stuck his head in to look at Bobby.

“Good luck, Bobby. You deserve it.”

Bobby waved him goodbye. Regret pooled at the bottom of his gut for not leaving with him. He came into Scott’s office looking for the comfort of a dead man’s silence and found Rictor instead. He was a romantic, he believed in things like fate. Bobby inched the picture frame closer. He believed in true love, too, and all the things it could overcome. He pulled his legs up onto the chair.

He wished he knew what he was afraid of.

=

Bobby couldn't stay in Scott’s office forever. There were only so many games of dusty billiard a man could play before he got too comfortable talking to himself. His allergies were beginning to itch at his nose, eventually, he had no choice but to step outside. The door creaked goodbye when he closed it very, very gently.

He had been gone for hours. The silence that fell over the mansion went unnoticed in that time. From the top of the stairs, he could see their guests collapsed into sleeping bags and mattress dragged out from storage. Bobby bowed his body over the railing to get a glimpse at what looked like Stephen Strange wrapped in the arms of one Alison Blaire wedged together between Cloak and Dagger. There were enough rooms in the mansion for everyone to bunk up, but between that and simply going home, it seemed Avengers, X-Men, and other such unaffiliated heroes had chosen to dogpile instead. Even Rictor and Shatterstar had made a nook for themselves in a far corner. The empty bottles and cans strewn on the floor alongside them might have something to do with it. Bobby chuckled into his hands as to not wake them.

He itched for some fresh air. It was late and no one would disturb him outside. There was no sign of Laura on the first floor and he had to believe Daken had left after Bobby rebuffed him. He was being realistic. If there was a chance for them, Bobby had already ruined it. Daken was too proud to stick around and wait.

There was no way to get outside by the first floor, not without playing a high stakes game of The Floor is Lava. His best bet was the second-floor terrace. The party hadn't moved past the entrance hall and with any luck it would be empty. He didn't stop to peek through the glass doors. The promise of the outdoors was close, there was no reason to hesitate. He really should have stopped, he didn't notice the bodies on the floor until it was nearly tripping over them. The naked bodies on the floor. _Naked bodies he almost tripped over._

"Happy Hannukah, Bobby.” Ororo wished him under her breath. Bobby squealed before he could slap his hands over his mouth.

They weren't on the floor exactly, but the futon was a close call. Betsy’s purple-black hair stuck out distinctly from underneath the sheets. Her eyes were closed and she was sound asleep. Bobby recognized Ororo’s bedhead for what it was. Their clothes had been hastily tossed to the foot of their makeshift bed. Ororo had warmed the air around them to shield them from the cold. He covered his face and gave them the modesty they deserved but weren't too worried about if they'd opted to do this out in the open.

“I was enjoying a moment of quiet before I moved us inside,” Ororo explained patiently. Betsy’s hair ran through her fingers like silk.

“I didn't mean to intrude—"

“Bobby. It's a public place. If we were the kind of people who apologized for this, I would be apologizing to you.”

He had to laugh. She had a good point. Bobby wasn't looking for an apology, he would be mortified if Ororo gave it. He still felt out of place, the needle that had popped their bubble. He backed away towards the door but decided it would do just as well to slide down to the garden and do what he had come out for in the first place. Ororo was readying to pick up Betsy and take her inside anyway, and they would be more comfortable if Bobby wasn't there to watch.

It nagged at him something awful.

“I thought Betsy was somewhere else?” He asked Ororo as she gathered her lover in her arms. He came upon dangerous territory. “I thought… You were upset.”

“Not upset. Saddened, yes. I feel… lacking, when she is not with me. She makes me whole.” Ororo pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Betsy stirred. Her hands reached for Ororo and wrapped around her shoulders without waking. “And now she's here. I find it difficult for anything else to matter.”

Betsy and Ororo both lived in the moment, cherished what it had to offer. There were others to think ahead, of the future and what it would bring, but they had each other now and no real idea for how long. It would be a waste to plan for anything except that instant. With more than a few abandonment issues, Bobby understood the importance of simply being there. No further questions, Your Honor. He inclined his head and bid Ororo goodnight. He asked her to give Betsy his best when she woke up.

He helped himself into the garden with an ice slide. It was bleak and rose-less with winter freezing the hedges to their roots. Perhaps he was biased, but to Bobby, it was no less beautiful than when in full bloom. The cloudless sky, pitch black, and the moon barely a sliver, waning crescent. Snow crystals glittered on tree branches like fallen stars. He touched down on the edge of the fountain with his legs crossed beneath his body. His icicle claws painted scratches into the frozen archs of water.

“It’s pretty here.”

He was prepared for Daken’s voice. He heard the crunching of snow and leaves beneath his feet. Daken could be quiet as a mouse, if he wanted to sneak up on him without his know so he would have done it. Bobby noted it was the second time he'd been given a warning of his encroaching in the same nigh. It gave him an opportunity to run a second time, maybe a final time.

“It is.” He agreed. 

Bobby peered through his glacier eyes, the world was clearer through eyes cut in ice. Daken crossed towards him tentatively. His hand hovered over the spot beside Bobby before he decided to take it. Ororo’s warmth was asleep with her, the storm she had held at bay was fast approaching. Daken was still shirtless, in leggings so thin Bobby could make out his skin through the fabric. A round disc sat clipped on the waistband of his clothes, blue light spun around the rim in a curious circle.

“I take it you’re not going to run from me again.”

One foot on frozen water, one on the snow, Bobby straddled the edge of the fountain and faced Daken head on. “No.” He promised himself.

Snow frosted Daken’s hair. It grew longer and more unruly than he remembered it. His fingers twitched. A week ago he would have touched him without pause, returned the curl framing his forehead back into the pomp of his mohawk.

“May I speak?”

“Do I want to hear it?” Bobby wondered.

“I don’t know, but I want to say it.”

He thought as much. It was crazy. There were so many doubts in his mind before and yet now... He felt like he knew why Daken was here, what he was going to say, and he felt… not _numb,_ nothing like that, but ready. Primed to listen, like everything that had happened from that day in the Danger Room until now had unfolded exactly as it needed to. 

“I regret what I said, most of all I regret why I said it. If I thought you trusted me at my word anymore, I would say I am sorry.” Daken’s fingers froze on his lap as if holding paper. His mouth moved like muscle memory, reciting words he had written and memorized. The butterflies in his gut surged upward. Daken had given this more thought than it had taken him to simply show at his doorstep. He had found words, saved them for him, and now he was here saying them. He had thought about Bobby as much as Bobby had thought about him. It felt like a balm over marred skin. “You are a good thing. I’ve never been one to reject a good thing. I don’t know why I can’t… Simply take advantage of your attention. It has never been a problem before. I’ve decided I will not question it any longer. That is, if you still want me around.”

Cold air rushed between them and neither shivered. Bobby slid forward until their legs knocked together. His palm met Daken’s jaw, he held his face in its bewilderment.

“Did you practice all that? Out loud?” Daken’s eyes fell to his mouth and stayed there as if unsure it was real. “I am just wondering how many times you heard yourself say those things and didn’t realize how much it doesn’t sound anything like you.”

Daken grabbed his wrist. The soft, subdued lilt went up in smoke, replaced by the coffee tones he knows so well, roast dark enough to put hair on his chest. “Bobby—”

Bobby rose to one knee, crammed it between Daken’s spread legs. He rested the sides of his forearms on Daken’s chest and trusted him to keep firm under Bobby’s weight and his fingers outlining his face.

“I listened, you listen.” He could tell by the sharp inhale of breath and the brief suction of his cheeks that Daken bit his tongue. “I deserve to be happy. _You_ deserve to be happy. Does that register with you at all? And I mean truly registers. Not in the way you feel it does, like you’re someone who _stole_ what you haven’t earned and should be proud of for tricking the universe. Taking advantage of my attention? Are you twelve? That isn't how this works! I mean as a matter of fact, that you have a _right_ to be happy."

He'd begun to melt. Water ran down Daken’s chest. It flowed freely over Bobby's cheeks even after there wasn't any ice left. Daken wiped away the wet lines beneath his eyes, up to lines of laughter pinched at their ends.

"I don't want to stifle you, I don't want to limit you in any way. I do not expect you to be the _kindest_ man I've ever met. I only want you to respect me, as I respect you.”

Who and what had hurt Daken? Because there was no _or_ about it. He was scarred in layers. It was not in his  _nature_ to be an unredeemable bastard, he had already shown Bobby, Laura, and Gabby that there was more to him than blood on his claws. He needed fixing, and _Daken_ was the only person who could do it. Bobby was a figure in the sidelines, supportive, yes, but fundamentally only an incentive to what Daken had always wanted: a sense of belonging, someone to call his own. 

Daken smiled up at him. His knuckles caressed the line of his cheek. He would not be understood at first glance. He was a creature with fangs, with no soft edges, that he could be gentle at all was a sign to look beyond the surface. Bobby was not wrong for sticking his neck out for him.

“I had plans to do this more publicly. The idea was to embarrass myself, so you'd know how much I meant it. I'm glad I didn't. You would have beat me to it.”

“That's not funny!” Bobby sobbed. He hit Daken on the shoulder, close-fisted. “You're really fucked up emotionally and it's making me sad!”

“We can still do it. We can go inside and we can both be sad and publicly humiliated.” He grabbed Bobby and lifted him beneath the arms until they were both standing. He walked him close, then back towards the door. He raised his voice to a scream, louder than was acceptable at four in the morning. “Robert Louis Drake! I am lucky for every self-preservation instinct you lack!”

“Why are you yelling?” Bobby hissed wetly. He wrapped his arms around Daken's shoulders and pushed his head beneath his chin. He tucked into the warmth of his collar and let himself be lifted weightlessly with supernatural strength. The other man’s pitch was high and melodramatic. Despite himself, a laugh fluttered out of Bobby with a bellyful of butterflies. “Who told you my full name?!”

“I was a complete idiot! I’ve earned anything you’ve got planned for me, Mighty Iceman!” A light went up in one of the mansion’s windows. Daken tossed his head in its direction, somehow yelled louder. Bobby kicked his feet, he couldn't bring himself to pry himself off Daken's chest or cover his mouth and he continued, undeterred. “I prostrate myself at your feet and beg for your forgiveness! This is Daken speaking, if I was not clear!”

“Shut up right now! You’re gonna wake everybody!”

“I am your humble servant! Your knight never-errant! Forever and al—”

Bobby kissed him.

He gave himself wholeheartedly, kissed with his whole body. It was not a kiss to silence, but to pour truths into each other they were too thick-skulled to say in words. Bobby understood there would be a hundred more moments in which Daken would be crass without thinking, and others in which Bobby's jokes would unknowingly perpetuate an idea Daken wore as a shield. He knew that by choosing a life together, they would remain as complex in unison as the sum of their parts. And he was okay with that. He could have something easier, something closer to what he already knew, but what he wanted was right there with him, kissing him back. He expected him unmoving, at first, shocked still with surprise, but Daken answered him like he’d been _waiting_. His mouth devoured, hungry, damn near starved for him. Bobby’s hand buried in his dark hair, Daken’s fists a force pulling him insistently closer.

 _I’m sorry_ . It spoke in both their voices. _I will be better._ It promised. And _Where do we go from here?_

The dam collapsed under the weight of all the charged moments they’d shared, the slow-building intimacy that was welcome and unexpected.

Their fates sealed with their mouths.

They kissed until Daken was the only taste in his mouth and his feet couldn’t hold him, Bobby's mouth bruised on his sharp teeth.

“I got you–” Bobby interrupted Daken, carded his hands through his hair and tugged hard. He faltered once, their mouths met like waves against a cliff. They parted in slick sounds, noses and foreheads pressed together. Daken retreated like the tide. Bobby made a sound that was  _not_ a whine. Daken was hoarse, at a loss for breath. “I got you…”

He fingered the disc on his waist. Upon closer inspection, it was segmented. It broke into parts like flower petals, blooming open on Daken’s hip. A beam of light shot out from the center, it spread open to form of a pyramid. It encased an orb forming out of particles flowing from the base, it pulsed and grew until it exploded outwards, directly around them.

"Sincerity is... difficult, for me, as you can imagine. Lots of power in the truth, and I am reluctant to share it." He mumbled, pausing to kiss Bobby's mouth, like he too could barely hold himself back. "I've been as honest as I can be now, but gifts have served me well in the past as a substitute. Tangible sentiment..."

He listened and thought of Kitty's dress and Daken's uniform that night at Kingpin's party, how Daken had alluded there was more where those had come from. Something gleamed in the corner of Bobby's eye and he chased it by turning his head. A silver shape no bigger than his hand spun around them in a surfboard. Bobby squinted at the figure, so universally recognizable there was no mistaking it.

“The Silver Surfer?” He asked. Light trailed the miniature surfer like a comet. His board cut through the sky, shaping stars over the polluted darkness. Ursula Major. Gemini. Eridanus. He recognized the dome of constellations _meant_ to be visible in the New York sky. A star map. A holographic, portable _star map_.

“I bought it off a mutual friend.” Daken smiled. He caught Bobby’s earlobe between his teeth. “Do you like it?”

“I say I like stars once and you…” Bobby breathed. “You _got_ me some stars?”

A sharp, surprised laugh escaped him. The littlest Surfer drew Andromeda over Daken’s head. Bobby’s eyes fell down to the man’s face. Daken’s black-as-black eyes took in the starlight, the dark corners drank in silver and held it like the full moon.

“What are– What is–” He didn’t make it through a single question. “I hate you so much.” He said instead.

Daken tilted his head and pressed his knuckles into Bobby’s jaw and guided him to match. They closed their eyes, pressed their lips together without any of the earlier urgency, the fervor that had overtaken them both not gone but abated for the time being.

There were things best left unspoken in the fragile place whatever _this_ was occupied, but one thing had to be clear.

“Do you, really?” Daken said, too heavy with candor to be simple teasing.

“ _No_.” Bobby admitted, and kissed him before they could say anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it is an abrupt ending. I find myself uncomfortable with something I can't discuss publicly.  
> I can't thank everyone enough for all the support and the love this fic has gotten. You made me want to be a better writer, you made this a better fic. You've given me more than I deserve and I am very glad for it. That last scene was the first I had in mind, it's only fitting it be the last.  
> I hope no one is disappointed with how this ended. I hope it doesn't feel rushed. It's been building up to this moment for 50,000+ words and yet it's never felt like enough. I don't think it ever will. Whatever hasn't been resolved... That's on purpose. No story like this one should solve all its conflicts.  
> Thank you so much for doing this with me. I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> pls be nice. i am a bad writer.


End file.
